


Lest Mortals Dare to Dream

by RavenSinead



Series: Transient Eternity [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Choosing to Live, Dealing With Loss, F/F, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Love Conquers All, Redemption, The Calling, The Naming of a Prophet, divine intervention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 51
Words: 104,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenSinead/pseuds/RavenSinead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leliana has returned, and all is as it should be. Isn't it? The depth of a broken heart cannot be mended simply, can it? What are the true limits of the human heart? If a god's true desire is love, can love cause you to sin against that god? A tale of passion and longing, devotion and duty, living and loss. Are the doors to heaven locked, or nearer and more open than anyone might know?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Begin the Tale of Valor

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. All characters, lands, and settings belong to BioWare and EA.

**Salem Cousland**

     I awoke with a start, looking with frantic eyes around the unfamiliar room. It was dark, too dark, and someone stirred beside me in the narrow bed. My heart seized in my chest and panic began to creep against the borders of my mind.

     _What in hell?_ I wondered as I felt soft breath across my cheek. Nightmares caught in my throat and I reached, trembling, for the flint and candle on the nearby stand. _This cannot be. I ended it...I let nothing happen between Velanna and me. Why then am I lying beside another? I do not remember..._

     Shaking hands struck the flint and the candle wick caught flame. I took the candle in hand and held it over the figure who lay beside me, sighing in relief as memory returned with the spray of tangled red hair on the single pillow. A shaky breath left my lungs and I struggled to calm the rapid beating of my heart. This was no nightmare. This was a dream.

     _Leliana,_ I reached out and smoothed her tangled hair, smiling as I had not smiled in a month. _I remember now. The ship in the harbor, the Right Hand and you...my beautiful wife...holding me in your arms and offering your forgiveness, giving my ring back to me in a re-pledged vow. You asked me to stay beside you, even when I am undeserving._

     I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my thoughts too chaotic, my body too awake to consider returning to sleep. I massaged the ache from my tensed muscles before I stood and went to the window, pulling back the shade. The moon hung in the sky, beautiful and gleaming, casting her kind light on my lover's sleeping face.

     _My lover. My wife._ The foreign smile crossed my lips again as I gazed at her face. Even though shadows of exhaustion bruised the skin beneath her eyes, even though she was pale from work and worry, I found her to be radiant, unearthly, transcendent...more than mortal. More than me. Once again I saw the new scar in the center of her lower lip. It was a small thing, but it troubled me. Her reaction when I had touched it and asked after her well-being made me wonder at the trials she had endured. She had all but collapsed in my arms, speaking in Orlesian...a language of secrets...her language, not mine.

     _We have time for those secrets to come to light,_ I promised myself, drawing the curtain across the window once more, lest the light wake her. _I will make it so. No matter the conspiracies of men or angels, I will make it so._

     I crept from the room and down the halls of the Amaranthine Chantry, basking in the peace that night alone provided. There were no sounds but the skittering of the odd mouse here and there, and the almost imperceptible footfalls of a cat following them, intent on feasting.

     _Life continues,_ I thought as I moved towards the infirmary that Wynne helped establish when darkspawn sacked Vigil's Keep. _Life will always continue. Even when the trials of men are done, even when we are lost to the face of Thedas, I believe that life will go on. It is inevitable. Why then, Maker,_ I wondered, _why then do we struggle each day for breath? Why do we battle our own hearts and minds? Why is there no peace to be found when all around us things continue as ever they have, in a predictable pattern that should comfort? Why does it not comfort?_

     I eased open the infirmary doors, seeking out Wynne, my friend and second mother. At the end of the hall the fire flickered in the hearth, too low. I strode across the room to the pile of wood, adding logs to the fire until it roared and crackled one again. I turned back, seeking Wynne's white hair in the shadows of the room.

     "She isn't here." a shy, low Ferelden accent spoke and I turned towards it, perhaps too quickly.

     A young woman in a templar's tunic fled three steps backward, light on her feet like a dancer. Worried, icy green eyes met mine through a tangle of obsidian hair. Her hands were clenched into fists, as though anticipating violence. She bore the same haggard look as Leliana, the bruised shadows beneath her eyes, the pallor of fatigue and anxiety.

     "Who is not here?" I kept my voice gentle.

     "The...the elderly mage." she stammered, her posture easing not one whit. "Would I be wrong in my assumption that she is who you seek?"

     "No." I smiled, trying to set the stranger at ease. "Might have I have the pleasure of your name?"

     "Kestrel Ariyah." she replied, her body stiffening to the position of attention. "Templar Private."

     "At ease, private." I extended my hand. "I am Salem Cousland, the arlessa of Amaranthine."

     Her rigid bearing faltered and surprise struck in her eyes as her mouth fell open. "Ancient gods." she breathed, backing away yet another step. " _The_ Salem Cousland? The Hero of Ferelden? Forgive me, milady, I meant no disrespect...I...I've no idea...the proper greeting to give a noblewoman...or a woman of your considerable status for that matter."

     "I despise and do not stand on formalities." I kept my hand extended and, at last, she grasped it in her own, exerting a brief pressure before withdrawing yet again. "You may call me Salem, I you wish. As a templar, you are somewhat beyond having to bow and scrape before nobility, or am I mistaken?"

     "I...I do not know." she answered, seeming still awestruck. "I have not been a templar for very long, mila...Salem." she shook her head, as though calling me by my name grated against her better judgment. "But here I stand, like a foolish girl, keeping you from your business. The elder mage departed about a candlemark ago; I've no idea where she went, but I can attempt..."

     "There is no need." I lifted my hand, forestalling her offer of help. "You need not exert yourself on my behalf. You look as though you have not slept in days."

     Kestrel shook her head. "I am quite well. Seeker Leliana was quite adamant that I rest."

     " _Seeker_ Leliana?" I asked, perhaps a bit too fast, too harsh.

     _What has happened in our time apart?_

     Kestrel's vivid eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hand. "Have I spoken amiss?" she asked. "She told me that you were wed...I...I thought you would..."

     "Communication between us has been little to non-existent." I reflected back on the nights I had spent wondering where Leliana was, if she had been safe, if she had been afraid, if she had been... _lonely as I...so terribly, terribly lonely._

     _I do not even know if she received the letter that I sent. It would not surprise me if that bitch Cassandra intercepted any of my attempts at communication with my own wife._

     "It is all right, Kestrel." I spoke and her expression of panic eased. "You were not to know."

     "Forgive me if I seem overly forward," the young woman stepped closer, still gazing at me as if she did not believe I existed in the waking world. "But...how is she? Leliana?"

     "Sleeping." I said, touched by the young woman's obvious concern for my wife. "She was quite exhausted, and I am afraid I did little to ease her fatigue. Tell me, Kestrel, if you are not too tired yourself, what transpired that brought you to Amaranthine?"

     _Perhaps, in this way, I can ease Leliana's burden. Perhaps I can buy more time for us if I learn as much of what she endured as I can, and save her the difficulty of explanation._

     "I do not know if I can relay the tale in its entirety." Kestrel answered. "But I can tell you about our mission, and the battle. Leliana saved us all." Admiration rang clear in her tone and my heart surged with pride.

     _I have no doubt._

     "Regale me." I sat before the fire and gestured to the young templar in invitation.

     Kestrel sat before the hearth and stared into the flames, gathering her thoughts. "Something about the mission was amiss from the outset, arlessa." she began, seeming more comfortable with using my formal title than my name. "I could sense it from the very beginning..."


	2. Dreaming My Damnation

**Leliana**

     _The light through the windows is harsh, stark...terrifying. It gleams off of the white marble of the Divine's Hall in Val Royeaux. I walk towards the Sunburst Throne, hearing the echoes of my footfalls. The silence is broken only by my feet and the voices whispering in my ears, remnants of accents and lives remembered._

_**I do not understand,** _ _I continue moving, driven forward, afraid that this dream will bring me what others of its like have: knowledge that I do not want, truths that I cannot endure... **it is death to dream. I have no wish to die.**_

_The light blinds me yet further and I lift my hand to shield my eyes. My throat is parched, my skin dry; I feel as though a desert winds blow against me. I grit my teeth and press onward, determined to see this dream to its end, for good or ill. Whatever would come, I would be prepared. The trials of dreaming, just as the trials of living, could be endured but one way. The sole way out was to move through. No hiding. No faltering. I did not know what this dream would hold._

_**Though, if I am standing here, before the Sunburst Throne, I cannot imagine that this dream will bring me any sort of comfort. Once, I called Val Royeaux my home. I loved the flurry of the city, the parade of wealth and class and style. Now, it is a place of torments, both old and new.**_

_As I approach the throne, the excruciating light bursts into a cloying darkness. The voices assailing my ears grow louder, but they are no more translatable than before. I cast my eyes about in the darkness, attempting to find something to orient myself, to anchor my mind to. When there is nothing but chaos, a soft, golden light illuminates the throne and the figure standing there. I remember the waterfall of indigo hair, the gown stitched from the constellations, the glimmering silver eyes filled with ancient wisdom and grief._

_**Oh no...no no no no no. The Maker? Here? Is this more than simple dream?**_

_" What calls to you, my daughter?" The Maker speaks, and she does not use Salem's voice. _

_She speaks with the voice I have heard once before, in my first and second visions. It is waterfalls of grief, flaming torrents of wrath, the deep roar of a dragon intermingling with the deafening crack of a glacier. It is the voice of a god and I fall to my knees, helpless to stand before the deity who has claimed me for her own. I wait for more words, but they do not come. It is the simple, haunting question._

_Another shaft of light, this time a brilliant white, drifts down from the ceiling of stars. The pure light falls onto the tall, broad-shouldered form of Cassandra Pentaghast who stands fully outfitted in ceremonial armor. She turns to me and smirks, her full, crimson lips quirking upward in a look of utter disdain._

_"The righteous stand before the darkness, and the Maker shall guide their hand." she intones, her solemn, untraceable accent grating against my ears. "Did you not once say these words, Leliana? Did you not once believe them? I am the righteous in the face of unfathomable darkness, and you have shown me nothing but enmity."_

_**Cassandra? What in the name of all creation is** **this?** I look to the Maker, hoping for illumination, for clarity, but her unnerving eyes betray no emotion and look nowhere other than my countenance. _

_"You would consider yourself righteous?" I ask Cassandra. "You, who would have let your companions die, all for the sake of a bloody **mission debriefing!** In what world is that considered righteousness!?"_

_"Tell me." Cassandra orders. "Once, you followed the words of the Chant of Light. You clung to Andraste's wisdom and your heart led you accordingly. You showed grace unto the poor, mercy unto the fainthearted. You provided succor unto the ill, but never did you sacrifice more than was mandated, as is the Maker's wish. And now you have forsaken this path, and for what, Leliana? What has turned you from your faith?"_

_**Is that true?** I wondered, letting my eyes fall through the memories of my past. **Could such terms describe me, in truth? So clinical...so col...only giving what was demanded and no more? Living according to a set of words penned and spoken by a woman who...who...failed? Surely...surely I was more...I remember my time at the Lothering Chantry as peaceful...was that because I did not truly live? Because I strayed no further and gave no more than was allowed?**_

_"I have." Comes the answer, but it is not me who speaks._

_Another pillar of light, cold, lonely, and blue, falls from the sky. It shines down on the form of a broken woman. Her wrists are chained with blood-colored steel, and the chains are staked to the floor with spikes of metal. She is dressed in rags, her body a latticework of scars in varieagated hues._

_**Salem...**_

_She looks so pale, so tormented. Her strong, free spirit is locked in a body that is chained to the ground, chained to her tainted blood. The scars on her body bear witness to the gravity of her sacrifice, for she gave all that she had. She still, every day, gives all that she has. She knows the meaning of sacrifice to its fullest extent, and she has died for it. Her body is forever ruined for it. Because of that, I know that others find her disfigured, ugly, without beauty, but I...I have seen her endure every wound. I know their cause and their reason and in my eyes...in my eyes she is beautiful above all else._

_"The abomination speaks?" Cassandra laughs, a bitter, harsh sound that echoes in the black austerity._

_Still, the Maker says nothing. She stands between my heart and my duty, seeming oblivious to both. My skin burns from the heated gaze of her eyes. I do not wish to know what I will hear next. I must hear it regardless._

_"I am the answer to your question, Cassandra." Salem replies, her voice low and pained. "I am the one who turned Leliana from her faith."_

_**What!? No! Salem Cousland, seal your lips! You have done nothing but affirm my faith! You have done nothing but sacrifice, give of yourself, fight for those who do not have the way or the will, and you have taught me to do the same...**realization strikes me like a blow to the face. **Against the mandates set down by the Chant of Light. We are not meant to give everything of who and what we are. Maker's blood...for those who have no strength, Andraste's gospel** is... **cruel.**_

_"At least you have the grace to embrace your crimes." Cassandra smiles and it is the look of a predator. She turns her cinnamon eyes to me and they spark with a fanatical light. A light that once shone in my own gaze. "This is where you stand, Leliana. In the darkness, torn between the righteous, who trust the Maker, to guide their hands, and that," she points to Salem, "twisted abomination of magic and darkness who has stepped beyond our Maker's grace. Whom shall you choose, Leliana?"_

_I scrutinize the Right Hand. Her armor gleams, spit and polish. Her bearing is impeccable, her profile noble. Every hair lies in place, smooth and shimmering like silk. She is a paragon of faith, the pride of the Chantry, an emissary of the most powerful woman in Thedas. She is everything that I once desired; all that I once aspired to be. She is covered in grandeur, beauty, and the trappings of importance._

_I look once again to Salem, seeing her battered body, knowing the death sentence she carries in her veins. She smells of copper, salt, and smoke...the scents of battle and death. Her hair is tousled and unkempt; her clothing the rags she mended a hundred times during the Blight. But her eyes are not the cold, metallic gleam of Cassandra's. There is such pain in the mesmerizing silver-blue, stories of hardships and scars and terrors unknown to man. Eclipsing that pain is her love...ever has it dwelt there, stronger than her swords, larger than her legend, more indomitable than her spirit._

_**Love.** I caress Salem with my eyes; heart breaking as I realize that I cannot free her from those crimson chains. **Duty.** I look back to Cassandra, the height of pride, the pinnacle of greatness...bitter and cold and angry. Now, I look at the god who stands between them, daring to meet those silver eyes with my own. _

_" What calls to you, my daughter?" she asks again and I clap my hands over my ears, basking in the beauty of her voice even as the power of it causes me pain. _

_"You would give me the choice?" I ask, eyes torn between the triumvirate that splits my decisions. "You would ask me to choose between the woman who drew your eyes to me and the woman who stands for all that is goodness and truth, but who lives her life in a way that is reprehensible!? Moreover, you would even grant my desires, should I choose against your will!?"_

_" Is that not what humans have ever clung to?" the Maker questions, not unkind. "The hope of choice? Free will? Would you wish me to choose for you, Leliana of Ferelden?"_

_**No!** I scream the word inside my mind, knowing that the Maker can hear my thoughts. **A thousand hells of no. But...** panic infuses me as my eyes dart from Salem to Cassandra in an ever-increasing frenzy... **never have I been in control of my own life. How can I make this choice...**_

_"I," Salem speaks and I watch her as she falls to her knees, brought low by her ever-tightening chains. "I will not fault you, Leliana. Follow the mandates of your heart. None shall take the power of choice from you," she repeats the words that she screamed at Cassandra the night the Right Hand came for me, "not even me."_

_"Choose, Leliana." Cassandra demands, imperious, so different from Salem's gentle forgiveness. "Now."_

_**I...** I sink to my knees, confused and in pain and so very, very afraid and unready **...I do not know...**_


	3. Worth Something More than Mortal

**Salem**   


     "I...I knew that Leliana was...different." Kestrel continued the story that had begun with the young woman's assignment to a strange squad of suspected templars. "I could see it the very moment I met her. There's something of a rivalry between the orders, I suppose. I do not know why it exists or where it comes from, but it is there. Regardless, when first I met Leliana, we were ordered on deck to train." A slight smile quirked her lips as she stared into the fire, her speech the sole thing that acknowledged my presence. "Leliana just...she walked over and began _talking_ to Sergeant Alan. It was as though...as though she _saw_ us...as something more than mere rank and file soldiers."  


     "I am well aware." I, too, looked into the flames, remembering my bard's gentle gaze from across the campfire. Within her eyes lived the knowledge that she could sense the pain that weighed upon me, and sought to understand it.   


     Kestrel's pale cheeks turned pink with a demure blush, and she shook her head. "Of course you would be. Do forgive me..."  


     "No need to apologize." I reached out and placed my hand on her shoulder, wincing when she flinched, feeling further sorrow as her eyes widened at the sight of my skin...more scar tissue than flesh. "Please, continue."  


     "Of course." Kestrel's eyes would not leave my hand, so I removed it from her shoulder, freeing her ability to speak. "We kept up a pretense at training, but all of us were wondering what manner of Seeker would speak to a templar in a comradely fashion. And then Rylie," Kestrel's gaze darted over to a young woman who slept on a cot nearby, and the templar's face softened. "Rylie caught her name and demanded to know if she was _the_ Leliana who defeated the Right Hand in single combat."  


 _Leliana engaged in a duel with Cassandra?_ I filed the question away to ask my wife later, preferring to hear Leliana's account, and to know precisely what further treatment Cassandra warranted in my arling.   


     "She was..." Kestrel smiled again, a young woman's admiration for a hero. That she smiled in such a manner at the thought of Leliana made my heart ache with love. "...so humble. Humble as I have never seen. She did not even take credit for her victory in the duel." Kestrel shook her head in disbelief. "Instead, she attributed it to you."  


     "To me?" I asked, surprised. "Leliana's skill is unmatched. On the field of battle, I pale in comparison."  


     Kestrel's brow creased in confusion. "You are not at all how the stories portray you." She blurted, lifting a hand to her mouth in shock as I threw my head back and laughed.   


     "Pray tell," I managed to speak between chuckles, "what madness...these stories portray."  


     "They speak of a hero, a legend, made of iron and fire." Kestrel's eyes lit with excitement. "A woman who marched off to battle and faced down a god with no fear in her heart. A woman that stood against death without a tremor. They even say that you defeated a high dragon, singlehanded and _blind_ , no less! The tales..." her countenance darkened, "...tell of a rigid, unyielding force. A noblewoman's proud eyes that could look upon a battlefield and show no grief. They...they say that you are callous and cold...not the sort of woman who would attribute great skill to another...not even one that she loved."  


     I sobered as I listened to a stranger's words, admiring her honesty. Even though she seemed cowed by my presence, she did not flinch from speaking the entirety of the truth. I shifted, moving nearer her the smallest amount, frowning when she flinched from my presence once more.   


     _Can I hold it against her, however?_ I questioned myself. _Given the iron ferocity of my supposed and circulated reputation,_ _she has reason to feel afraid._  


     "There were times," I admitted, "when I fit that exact description. There is a time when heartlessness is called for. There is a time when ruthlessness is necessary." I hung my head, filled with regret. "But never did I depart from grief. Never did I forget the blood on my hands, or revel in the terrible necessity that fate placed upon me."  


     Kestrel's eyes softened and lost their apprehension. "There is such a light in Leliana's eyes when she speaks of you. I could not place the woman of the legend and the woman that she described to me beside each other...but now I see the truth of it. I can see the strength described in the legends...but it is not Cassandra's sort of strength, a brutality and fierce determination. Yours is...calm, measured...I had never imagined that strength could be so gentle."  


     _Is this...is this how I appear, in truth? Or is this the portrait that Leliana painted for her? I am...I am not a harsh woman by any means, but I have been hardened. Leliana has seen me forswear gentility and give myself over to wrath; she has seen my moments of doubt and darkness and hatred. Even still, she sees me through eyes of absolute love...absolute forgiveness..._  


     "Yes." Kestrel grinned, at last meeting the scars in my eyes without looking away. "That same light shines in your gaze when I speak of her. Most of the templar order, or the Seekers, from what I am told, bear no love toward Cassandra Pentaghast, but being here...bearing witness to this, the beauty that Cassandra aided in sundering...there is a darker part of my heart that wishes you had killed her on that ship."  


     "Is there that much ill will towards her?" I wondered, knowing that my reasons were personal, but Kestrel was a young, raw recruit.   


     _Surely she would not have a reason similar to mine to despise Cassandra._  


     "There is more now than from this mission's outset." Kestrel gave her answer. "We were sent to investigate an island where rogue mages were rumored to have a base of operations. The Divine herself sanctioned this mission...I wonder if she chose the crew as well, for all of us were templars under suspicion of sympathizing with the mage's plight. Regardless, even if we were all sympathizers, they attacked us at sea. An abomination was on board their ship and, had it not been for Lieutenant Kathyra's trust in Leliana, the templars would have faced the attack unarmed and unarmored. Cassandra refused to heed the warning. The lieutenant nearly lost her life because of it...as did Rylie."  


     "Was it Cassandra's ignorance of circumstance that earned her your wrath?" I inquired, seeing a peace in Kestrel that seemed at odds with the vitriol in her words and the sneer of disdain upon her features.   


     "No." The young woman's hands clenched into fists. "After the battle, after _Leliana_ destroyed the abomination, Cassandra ordered that we return to Orlais. It would have been, at the very least, a three day sail, during which the wounded would have died. Kathyra was the sole physician on board, and she was hurt so very badly..."  


     "If a return to Val Royeaux was ordered by Cassandra, what transpired that brought you here?" I asked.   


     "Your wife knocked Cassandra unconscious and ordered Sergeant Alan to lock the Right Hand in the hold." Kestrel smiled, the desperate mirth of a soldier attempting to find _some_ light and hope to cling to. "She told the ship's captain to sail to Amaranthine and she saved Kathyra and Rylie's lives."  


     _My Leliana,_ tears struck my eyes and I dashed them away before they fell. _So beautiful...so hesitant when I met you...now I hear tales of **your** valor that rival legends of old. Maker's breath, you are...you are simply unfathomable, dear heart._   


     "Leliana is more a healer than she will ever know." I whispered, reverent, remembering my wife's hands as she stitched my skin together, as she delved into the dungeons of her nightmares and carried me into freedom. "Thank you for sharing this with me, Kestrel."  


     "I know it is not my place, Arlessa Cousland, but I feel these words in my heart, and fear I will be remiss if I do not speak them."  


     "Feel free." I offered, through my heart sank.   


     "Leliana...she is a hero, my friend, and your wife...but her destiny is leading her to greater things. Greater things than what the Chantry would use her for. Greater things than..." She sealed her lips and shook her head, unable to say more. She did not need to.   


     I understood. I understood what she could not say. _Leliana is meant for greater things than the love of a simple woman from a simple country. You are right, Kestrel. I have known...I have known from the moment a vision granted by the Maker himself stole her from me on our wedding night. Leliana is more than human, more than mortal, not a soul that any human being could contain, cling to, or claim._  


     "She is meant for greater things than a mortal love." I answered, accepting the truth of the young templar's words. "I understand. If you will allow me, Kestrel, I must take my leave. I...I made Leliana a promise; I would not have her wake without me there."  


     "Please forgive me if I have overstepped..." Kestrel's apology trailed away.   


     "Never apologize for speaking the truth." I turned towards her and smiled, concealing my pain from her youth, and what remained of her innocence. "Leliana would tell you the same."  


     I walked down the dark hallway, back to the room that housed the woman who held and owned my heart, soul, and spirit. My last love.   


     _Perhaps it is a kinder twist of fate that has brought you back to me, Leliana,_ my thoughts whispered. _Perhaps it is so that you and I might share a proper farewell...before you leave me to my shadows...and go into your glory._  



	4. Battle Damage

**Leliana**

     The soft sound of a door closing forced my eyes open. My hands cast about on the bed, searching for the weapons I did not have near me. I waited for the tilting of the floor, the gentle sound of water slapping against the hull of the ship, the distinctive snap of canvas sails catching the wind.

     _Nothing._

     The fire in the hearth had dimmed, leaving a glowing bed of coals that served to illuminate the silhouette of the intruder.  My body tensed, preparing for a confrontation. The slight rustle of sheets grated in my hearing, as loud as though I had clashed cymbals together.

     "Did I wake you, dear heart?" Salem's soft, rough voice spun across the room, covering me in a sense of relief and calm that I had not experienced for... _too long. Far too long._

     At the sight of her, the sound of her, the horror of my dream washed over me and tears welled in my eyes of their own volition.

     "Leliana?" She moved to the bedside and my heart cracked as I noticed her slight limp, the weariness present in her energy. "Leliana, are you all right?"

     The mattress lowered beneath her weight and something good and pure and _right_ in my world solidified as she wrapped her arm about my waist and guided my head onto her shoulder. Try as I might, I could not quell the tremors that wracked me, the terrible, lingering fear that I had known; the horror of my own indecision as I stood before both Salem Cousland, Cassandra Pentaghast, and the Maker of life...unable to move my lips or steer my feet in one ascertainable direction.

     "I am...quite disoriented." I whispered into her skin, thinking the words paltry in comparison tot he tumult in my spirit and soul. "For a moment, I thought I was still aboard the ship..."

     "I understand." Salem replied, words that she spoke to me so often, so often that one might consider it a platitude. but never from her. I _knew_ in my soul that she truly was the _one_ who could understand, no matter the circumstance placed before her. "This all seems so very surreal."

     "I am afraid to wake up." I admitted. "For this seems to be the sweetest of dreams, one that I have not dared indulge in. To feel you near me, to hear your voice...all things I have longed for and been denied, even in the capriciousness of the fade."

     "It would seem that no world is kind to us." Her callused fingers stroked through my hair, soothing me as none other had ever been able to do. "Whether waking or dreaming...I tire of the torment. I tire of the uncertainty."

     _Here, in the shelter of your arms and your understanding, I am safe. Here, I can simply be Leliana, with no visions, no promises made, and no guilt held over me for my weakness and inconsistency._

     "At least one thing is certain." Salem spoke, and her fingers brushed over my cheekbone, gathering my tears and keeping them safe, keeping them secret, holding them in sacred trust. "I love you as I have never loved before, and as I will never love again."

     Despite the peace that washed over me with her declaration, despite the absolute _need_ I had to hear those words repeated, again and again unto time eternal...I could not help but notice the regret in her voice, the hint of her ever-present dark thoughts.

     _How is it, my Maker, that speaking of love can be such a grievous burd_ _en? That regret can stain words of passion, and taint sweet moments with the ominous unknown of the future?_

     "Your thoughts stray once more into darkness, my warden." I breathed, speaking words that we had so often shared during the blight; that were second nature to our hearts and minds.

     "I am surrounded by your light." Salem answered, a note of resignation and long-suffering in her voice that I had _never_ heard from her...even when she faced death at the top of Fort Drakon. "I am immolated by your radiance. I am burning alive, Leliana...my thoughts have nowhere to go but darkness...out of self-preservation, if nothing else."

     "Can nothing be simple?" I thought aloud, asking questions of the universe, of the Maker, of my wife. "I am torn betwixt the peace and pleasantness of my silence with you, yet I feel the need to reveal everything...and yet the words claw at my throat and leave me bleeding and mute, for I have no wish to cause you more pain...and yet pain is all we seem to bring to each other. We...we had barely...we had barely begun to discover ourselves without it...and that time has ended."

     "I know." She pressed her lips to my hair, a simple, comforting gesture that brought tears to my eyes yet again. "I do not think a destiny free from sorrow has been written for us. And I grieve daily for that, dear heart. I want nothing more than to provide you with a life of comfort and joy, where the both of us could live simple lives, be simple women..."

     "The desires of love and the beauty of passion." I whispered, thinking once again of the legends I had memorized, of the happiness depicted in the ever after...how gods and fate all saw to it that justice was done, and that those who loved knew peace at the end of conflict. "Would that the stories could be true. That heroes of legend truly did enter on their own reward at the end of the battle."

    "And what tales are there that feature heroes such as us?" Salem asked, a smile in her voice. "I am more scar than skin, old before my time, and you have come up from ignominy, through villainy, into divinity. No, dear heart. The tales end happily because they are simply that...tales. And should our legend ever be written, I am certain that the author will find us together at the end of time, in each other's arms, with no further cares or burdens."

     "But that is not the truth of the world, no matter how much we might wish it so." I curled further into her arms, needing her touch, the solid strength of her body encompassing mine. "The bards and minstrels of the world tell of the majesty of love, its immutability and strength, its determination to slog through trial and see the end where at last, it is allowed to be free."

     "That is not love." Salem shook her head, the length of her hair, streaked further with silver now, brushing my cheek. "Love is majesty, yes, immutable, strong, determined...but it is also a tacit agreement between one and their own soul. To give over everything that is in their heart, to surrender themselves to whatever terror might come, to whatever horror might arise, to place their entire spirit into the hands of fickle fate. Love is a contract of suffering and blood...and who would wish to write of that, or to speak of it to the young? You are right, Leliana. We have brought each other little else but pain...but therein is the comfort and purity of love. The acceptance of pain, the forgiveness of transgressions, the reconciliation of two hearts wounded and mended time and again. There is such a horror as pain without love...but never can there exist a love without pain. They are one and the same...the only guarantees in our ever changing existence."

     The eloquent tragedy of her words struck a chord in me and I looked into her eyes, seeing the scars therein, perfect mirrors of what she had spoken. The truth of Salem Cousland. The blue and silver of her gaze held pain, torment, and death...but never had I witnessed eyes that held as boundless a love as hers.

     "I wish your hands had never known a sword." I reached up and pressed my fingertips to the indigo and scarlet scar on her cheek. "You should..." Tears poured down my face as I thought of the beauty that should have been hers: the peace, the tranquility, the ability to use her eloquence to elevate hearts and minds...not solve the petty arguments of the world, or shout a battle cry. "You should have been..."

     "I am what I have become." She pressed her lips to my forehead. "The 'should' does not exist any longer. And what I am, in this moment, is a woman who longs to hold you, to keep the pain of revelation at bay for but a few moments longer, to savor the surrealistic quality of what I continue to pray is not a dream."

     _Yes!_

     My heart rejoiced, wanting the same things, _needed_ as she needed, _longing_ as she longed. Salem pulled me close and folded me into her arms, ghosting her lips across my temple.

     "I love you."

     I pressed myself against her, needing her to shield me...to forsake the world, to turn our backs on fate and destiny, kings and edicts. To impart comfort to one another, allowing the wounds of separation to mend...

     ... _before the wounds of reunion are inflicted._


	5. Punishing the Guilty

**Salem**

     Light crept in through the drawn curtain and I sighed, hating that time moved ever forward, in spite of the heart's longing for it to freeze in place. I did not want to leave this moment. I did not want to depart from the warmth and the comfort and re-enter the waking world, for I knew it would shatter. Leliana turned and burrowed her head into my shoulder, sighing in content, even though she had fallen asleep shortly after we had lain down together. 

     I brushed my thumb over the scar on her lower lip, unable to put the matter from my mind. It was small, white, and even, as though long-healed, as though present for her entire life.

     _But it is...wrong, somehow. This is not a wound made by a fist or a blade...it is more of a carefully placed burn. Too precise, too exact...was it even made by human hands?_

     I moved my hand and tucked the stray strands of red hair behind her ear, wanting her stories of the past, the tales of what had happened in the time we were apart. I wanted to hear them, no matter the pain that would be caused, no matter the injuries inflicted.

     _I know your fate, dear heart. Inasmuch as you knew mine at the top of Fort Drakon, I feel that I know yours now. You are no longer mine. You belong to the Maker, to the world, to all souls who have had their hope tried and tested to its limits. You will become for them what you have ever been for me, a beacon of salvation, a promise of peace restored to the land._

     _But who,_ a solitary tear slipped down my cheek, _who will know me when you are no longer here? Who will understand my nightmares and speak wisdom when my heart ventures into inescapable darkness? How selfish am I, Leliana, that I wish your light for myself when it is strong enough to illuminate all of Thedas? I am weary of begging for strength, begging for acceptance, crawling to the Maker's table for the scraps he would throw me...you are my everything, Leliana. You are my everything, and soon you will be gone, and I will be alone again, struggling to live for another chance meeting, fighting against the time left to me so that I might dream of you._

     "But I love you enough." I whispered to her soft, untroubled countenance. "I love you enough to let you go...I always have."

     _It is my curse...the terrible knowledge that Howe's night of butchery gave me. To hold all things loose, so that the heart does not wither and die when they are taken._

     A soft knock rapped at the door and I pulled away from Leliana, cushioning her head on the pillow and slipping from the bed as silent as possible. I padded to the door in bare feet, opening it and smiling as Wynne beckoned me out with the quirk of a finger.

     "Is everything all right?" I asked, stepping into the hall and easing the door closed behind me.

     "Come with me, child." Wynne answered, cryptic, leading me down the hall and into another room, an exact mirror of the lodging Leliana had been given.

     Cassandra Pentaghast lay on the bed, her long, raven hair askew on the pillow, her face bruised and swollen from the blows I had dealt her. A fine sheen of sweat beaded on her forehead, but her breathing was even, deep, and untroubled. She shifted and moaned, her hand coming to rest on her ribs, even though she did not wake.

     "Well?" I turned to the senior enchanter, wondering why she had brought me here.

     "Look at her, Salem." Wynne said in the harsh, reprimanding tone that I remembered from our travels together. "She has a concussion, fractured ribs, bruised muscles and bones, and light internal bleeding. None of it is life-threatening, mind you, but _you_ must understand, warden, that, as a healer, it chafes against my very nature to let this damage lie untreated."

     My hand clenched into fists as I gazed upon the High Seeker, feeling that she had not yet paid for her crimes against the one I loved.

     "Then why not defy my orders?" I asked Wynne. "It is not as though the notion is foreign to you."

     Wynne smiled and patted my arm. "True though that may be, I sense there is something deeper at work here than a simple, childish dislike of this woman. I have not seen you so enraged since the day we faced Rendon Howe at his estate."

     I gritted my teeth as Wynne reminded me of the moment when I indulged my darker heart, slicing at the man's body piece by piece, stealing his penance in blood...until a stronger hand and heart had stopped me. Until a voice whose cadence I could never deny had called me back to reality, reminding me that I believed in mercy and justice, that I had been wronged before, and never been so cruel. Rendon Howe and Cassandra Pentaghast possessed one commonality. Neither of them had harmed me directly...they had made the grave mistake of harming those I loved.

     "I know you are desperate to impart some earth-shattering truth, old woman." I spoke, teasing. "Pray, enlighten me."

     "I am worried for you, Salem." Wynne spoke. "You are obviously troubled and tormented, and I am forced to wonder if you have doomed this young woman to at least a month of recovery and pain...a sort of passive-aggressive torture, as it were."

     I sighed, considering the mage's assessment of my treatment of Cassandra. "This woman is the High Seeker of the Chantry." I informed Wynne. "The second most powerful woman in all of Thedas; the Right Hand of the Divine."

     "All the more reason for me to question you in this matter." Wynne narrowed her eyes and her lips turned downward. "Why are you antagonizing such a powerful enemy? Why did you raise your hand against her from the first?"

     Heat burned behind my eyes and I pursed my lips. "She harmed the one I love." I answered, my voice barely above a whisper. "And, to hear one of the young templars tell their tale, she would have let the wounded die after the battle that brought them here. I cannot countenance such fierce uncaring being let loose in this world...not while there are those who need time to recover."

     "Not while Leliana is in Amaranthine?" Wynne asked, a cunning light in her watery blue eyes.

     My shoulders slumped in defeat. "Am I not allowed to be selfish in the least?" I asked the mage, feeling drained of all energy. "Am I not allowed to cherish what little joy is granted me? How many times, Wynne? How many times must I pay the price?"

     "I do not understand what you reference." Wynne shook her head. "You could allow me to heal her and keep her sedated, if you wish to remain undisturbed by her presence."

     "No." I hissed, fierce. "No. Cassandra has cause enough to hate me as it is. My orders will leave her weakened and wounded, and that is as it should be. If I allow you to heal her, then allow you to inflict _anything_ else upon her person, she would have cause to harm you, and, by extension, the Ferelden Circle. Her reach is far...and I would see no more of my loved ones touched by that...that...whatever in hell she professes to be."

     Wynne chuckled. "You are a never-ceasing conundrum, Salem Cousland." She smiled. "That much has not changed. 'How many times must I pay the price,' you ask, and yet you have set events in motion that you be the _only_ one to bear the cost of this woman's ire when she wakes. My question for you, child, is this. Why do you persist in allowing yourself the ability to embrace only danger and pain?"

     I stared at her, struck mute, and she laughed.

     "Those eyes of yours are transparent, as ever they have been." She explained. "And the consistency I see in them alarms me. From the moment I met you at Ostagar, you have ever flung yourself against enemies and blades with abandon, turning away those who would comfort, aid, or take their share of the burden. It amazes me beyond comprehension that you allowed the bard to love you...even though you still insisted on sacrificial actions beyond reckoning. What is it that drives such behavior, Salem? Why is it that, when the war is ended, you still insist on placing yourself in the path of every blow, even unto angering, as you said, the second most powerful woman in Thedas?"

     I hung my head, remembering those same accusations leveled at me by Leliana in the Frostback Mountains. The pain I had caused her...the pain that made her flee my side. The pain that might separate us yet again.

     "I am afraid, Wynne." I admitted, letting the shame of my truth shine through. "I am afraid of losing what little I have. It is why...it is why I have only ever given of myself. I will place no one in danger when I can mitigate it. I will let no one be wounded when my blood can be shed. It is my fear of loss that drives me to this level of madness. To place anyone in chains, even if they would be willing to accept them, is anathema to me. And joy is so soon stolen from me...I chose to live." I turned away from Cassandra, unable to witness my weakness written in the bruises on her skin. "I chose to live, and my reason was stripped from me...I tried, Wynne." The desperation in my voice chilled me. "I tried. I told Leliana that I would forsake my name and title and forego all responsibility, against _my very nature_ , if she would only stay with me. But...out of love...out of a wish for my happiness...she left."

     "She loves you, Salem." Wynne stated, succinct, simple, but devastating. "Leliana would do anything for you."

     "Except stay." My dread of the future presented itself. "And she is well within her rights to leave. Those templars, the sailors," I gestured outside of the room with a desperate wave of my hand, "look to her as a savior and a hero. She is all of those things, Wynne. I have..." Another heart-rending truth tore from my lips and I shuddered, "...I have served my purpose in her life."

     Wynne placed her weathered, wrinkled hand to my cheek, a motherly gesture, and the warmth of her skin burned. "As her savior? As her hero?" The senior enchanter asked, and I nodded. "That purpose is never truly served in its entirety. If you have the courage to ask, Salem, I am certain Leliana will tell you a far more interesting version of the truth than you would relay to yourself. It will not be easy to hear, but I suggest that you listen."

     "I will." I promised, remembering my own words to Leliana. That love without pain could not exist, and that the truth between two souls was so often the cause of that pain. I breathed deep and looked to Cassandra. "And what will you do about her?"

     "I will keep in accordance with your wishes, as ever I have done." Wynne patted me on the shoulder. "Your sacrifices have preserved all of Thedas...in this Age, only a fool would countermand you."

     "If ever such a fool was born, dearest Wynne, it would be you." I overacted a grimace as the mage struck the back of my head.

     "You are incorrigible, arlessa." She smiled. "A courier arrived for you this morning, from Vigil's Keep, leaving a letter for you with the Revered Mother. I suggest you tend to your duties, as I shall tend to mine."

     "Thank you, Wynne." I opened the door. "If business calls me away, please inform Leliana that I will return by sunset."

     "Of course." Wynne made a shooing gesture with her hands. "Keep care of yourself, my dear."

     "As ever I have."

     "That gives me _no_ comfort, Salem." The mage frowned and I parried it with a smile, which faded as I closed the door and sought out the Revered Mother's offices.

     _It gives me no comfort either, dearest Wynne. No comfort at all._


	6. Bleeding for Love

**Leliana**

     The sun pried open my eyelids and I smiled as I stretched out on the bed, warmed by the memory of strong, scarred arms wrapping around me, a roughened voice whispering words of love. Those moments were all I needed, all I cherished, all I _craved_. This moment was all the perfection I needed.

     _Paradise,_ I thought as I rose from the bed, washed my face, combed my hair, and dressed in the loose linen pants and shirt that someone had left for me. _I am in Paradise. No matter the darkness to come, the choices that will inevitably threaten to shatter all ties that bind, I am...I am **happy**. _

     I opened the door and stole through the hallways, smiling a greeting to the lay sisters in their robes, remembering my time spent in the Lothering cloister.

     _The beautiful structure of each day. First, morning prayer, then the afternoon spent doing various tasks, either cleaning the Chantry, tending to the gardens, going amongst the village, aiding the injured, the sick, and the poor. Then, evening devotion and a candlemark of private meditation before slumber. It was a pleasant routine, so pleasant, in fact, that I did not realize I was dying, little by little, each day._

 _So focused was I on denying what I had been, that I did not realize that it had a place in my identity. These women,_ I entered the infirmary and offered a soft greeting to the healers, _they have been called to this. They are fulfilled here. I am not such a one._

     I moved to the back of the room, eager to see how my friends had fared through the evening. A sweet sight arrested me and I stopped, content, for the moment, to watch. Rylie lay on a cot, propped up with pillows, her chestnut curls tangled around her too-pale face. But her lips were quirked in a soft smile and her hand idly stroked through Kestrel's obsidian tresses while her black eyes glowed with the twisted, tangled majesty of love.

     The mage-templar slept in what had to be the most uncomfortable of positions, her legs curled beneath her, her back hunched, her head pillowed on her arms, which rested on Rylie's cot.

     I stepped closer and Rylie looked up, breathing into a wider smile. _Incorrigible,_ I mused, thinking of Kestrel's shy, reserved manner. _Love between such separate souls. Something so beautiful and rare **must** be the Maker's true design for this world. _

     "How are you, Leliana?" She asked, her voice a shadow of its normal volume.

     "Mercifully rested." I grinned and sat down beside her. "You?"

     Rylie shifted and winced, careful not to disturb Kestrel's rest. "My chest feels like a forge." She grinned, irrepressible. "But with Kes forcing me to eat and rink and sleep, I'm well on my way to complete recovery."

     I smiled down at the former thief. "I am glad to hear that." I said. "She was quite worried for you."

     "She wore herself out, looking after me." Rylie's lips trembled. "I tried to get her to sleep, but she wouldn't leave my side all night. She finally drifted off...going to hurt like hell when she wakes up, though."

     "I can remedy that." I winked at the young templar, moved to the other side of the cot, and lifted Kestrel in my arms.

     She remained asleep, dead to the world as I carried her to a nearby pallet. I placed a gentle kiss on her brow as I covered her with a blanket, praying that the Maker would see her love, her devotion, and keep her and her life-threatening secret in divine care.

     "Thank you." Rylie whispered, lifting her hand to cover a yawn.

     "You should get some rest." I told her, tucking the blankets around her legs as her eyelids fluttered.

     "Going to..." She yawned again, "...sleep my life away." She relaxed against the pillows. "You should...talk to the lieutenant." Rylie muttered, half asleep. "She...cried out for you...last night."

     _What?_

     The news unsettled me as I rose from Rylie's side and moved to a cot that had been placed out of the sunlight streaming through the windows. Kathyra rested there, her eyes closed, her ash-blonde hair wild on the pillow and across her face. Her skin still held a dangerous pallor, but it heartened me to see a tinge of color in her cheeks, and that her lips were no longer bloodless. I knelt down beside her and took her hand, relieved as I felt the dry warmth of her skin. Her eyelids jerked and fluttered open, and her eyes, that stunning deep green with golden flecks, lit as she met my gaze. 

     "You..." She rasped, her accent thick with sleep, "...all right?"

     Her ridiculous inquiry caught me off guard and I laughed, muffling the sound against my hand so that I did not wake the other injured and ill who still slept. "Am I all right?" I asked, repeating her question. "You were at death's door not a day ago and you are asking after me?"

     "I...had nightmares. They felt so real." Kathyra mumbled, still bleary, and quite likely under the influence of poppy syrup. "Cassandra, threatening you...hitting you. You were so tired...couldn't fight back."

     "I am fine." I assured her, tucking her lank hair behind her ear, wincing as I realized that she... _and myself, if I am to be honest_...was in desperate need of a bath. "You needn't worry. Focus your strength on recovering. Speaking of such, how are _you_ feeling, Kathyra? Are you in any pain?"

     "No." She shook her head in small movements, creasing the pillow. "I still cannot manage a deep breath, but I no longer feel as though I am drowning."

     "I am glad." I rested my palm against her forehead, relieved to feel that her fever had broken. "I am sorry that i gambled with your life, Kathyra. Had there been any other option, any other way..."

     "You saved me." The physician interrupted, her voice hoarse with emotion, or pain. I could not tell. "You, whom I have wronged, saved my life when the woman with whom I have traveled for three years and thought to be my friend would have let me die a slow, agonizing death. So do not apologize." Her green eyes pierced me. "Do not dare."

     "As you say." I smiled as my words reminded me of Salem. Salem who was _here_. Salem who was _alive_. Salem who _loved_ me.

     Kathyra's fingers reached out and brushed the angry, red welt on my cheek. "What...is this...was I not dreaming?"

     "Cassandra did strike me." I informed her, taking her hand before it could clench in anger that she need not embrace. "And would most likely have drawn blood, had Salem not intervened."

     Kathyra smiled and I could hear the laughter that she did not voice. "That...damnable...warden." She coughed lightly and I took the cup of water on the table beside her and held it to her lips. She drank, swallowed, and smiled. "I would...very much like to thank her."

     "I will insist on a proper introduction as soon as I am able to locate her." I promised, wondering what had caused Salem to leave our bed.

     _Our bed,_ I remembered her arms around me, her lips against my hair, the soothing beat of her heart. **_Our_** _life...my dream...do we actually stand the chance for a life together? After all that has happened, it seems impossible, but who am I to say it cannot be so..._

     "Did she kill Cassandra?" Kathyra asked, her brow furrowing in concern as she looked at me.

     "No." I shook my head. "Salem beat her within an inch of life, but refrained from killing her."

     "Then the tales of the warden's great mercy are true." Kathyra stared at the ceiling, a faraway emotion in her eyes that I could not place. "I do not think I would have stayed my hand, had Cassandra harmed you."

     "Nonsense." I comforted her, though my soul felt uneasy at the head in the physician's eyes. "You would do no such thing. You are far too sensible."

     She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes, and for the first time, her gaze resembled Marjolaine's. I shivered a little. "I have killed for less." She whispered.

     I squeezed her hand, imparting camaraderie and understanding. "We are not those people any longer, Kathyra."

     "You are right." She sighed, seeming to relinquish something dear to her as she exhaled. "It would seem we have those who have purchased our salvation in blood." Kathyra's eyes searched mine. "Is she still paying, Leliana?" Her voice slurred as her eyelids closed. "Is...your warden...still paying...for your freedom?"

     The question stunned me and I drew back from Kathyra, wanting to ask the physician what she meant, but unwilling to draw her from the healing slumber she slipped into.

     _What is the meaning of that question?_ I wondered, worrying the edge of my lower lip with my teeth. _My life is my own. Salem has told me as such, and yet...yet I sense a truth in Kathyra's words that troubles me. Salem bought my freedom from Marjolaine...with blood. She bought my freedom in Howe's dungeons...with blood. She bought my peace at the top of Fort Drakon...with blood. Maker's breath...has this not ended for her? This cycle of love and danger and pain...for my sake?_

     The thought terrified me as I rose and walked out of the infirmary, seeking someone who could tell me where Salem had gone. I needed to know. I needed to know if the hurt I witnessed in her eyes; her eloquent, impassioned declarations of love mingled with pain...had been because I did nothing but consistently show her that definition of love.

     _Have I ever bled for her?_

     The question haunted me as the door of the Chantry opened and Salem herself entered, her energy crackling with tension and what might have been fury. Her flaming eyes lit on me and softened as she moved forward, purpose in her stride.

     "Salem..." I began, but she silenced me with a quick, frightening kiss.

     "I have to go, Leliana." She spoke. "I haven't time to explain, and I do apologize, but a matter has arisen that needs my immediate attention."

     "What..." I trailed off as she thrust a folded parchment in my hand and turned on her heel, exiting through the still open door.

     I held the parchment in her trembling hands, still attempting to recover from the onslaught of her vicious, anxious energies.

     _I do not wish to see what lies within,_ I eyed the foreign seal stamped in blood-red wax. _The written word has done nothing but bring me pain...why, Salem? Why?_

     "I take it you spoke to Salem?" Wynne entered from the opposite corridor. I nodded, mute.

     The senior enchanter wrapped her arm around my waist and guided me out of the foyer. "Come, child. We have much to discuss...including the contents of that letter."

     I followed, a sinking feeling twisting in my gut and gnawing at my throat. Kathyra's question would not stop echoing in the back of my mind. I knew Salem's walk, her determination that guided her ever in places of danger. And I feared for her. I feared that, when next I saw her, there would be more blood.


	7. Those Perished in My Name

**Salem**

     _Damn it!_

     I cursed as I ran down the Chantry steps. I'd lost too much time.

     _Damn it into hell!_

     I loosened my horse's reins from the hitching post, grabbed the pommel, and swung myself into the saddle. I did not allow the horse even a moment to adjust to my weight before I dug my heels into its sides and galloped out of the city. I was racing against time, and I feared it would not be kind. This world seemed to have run out of kindness for me. The one thing I desired most in this world returned to me, and I was forced to leave her. But I had good reason.

     The letter Wynne informed me of was forwarded to Varel to the Amaranthine Chantry. It had been delivered there yesterday by a courier...sent by Ser Tamra. The woman who risked trusting me, because she believed that I could help her...that I would help lift Amaranthine up from the ruins that Rendon Howe left it in. She wrote to warn me, to help me so that I might, in return, aid her and those she looked after.

     _...while the identities of those who would see you dead have not yet been deciphered, we have been able to locate their meeting place._ I recalled the words from the letter as the wind whipped at me. _I have informed a man of a...shadowy nature...of the information that I cannot disclose to you in writing. I trust no one, not even the courier bearing this missive. Seek out Ser Wolf of Rivain in Amaranthine City, and mention my name to him. He will tell you what you need to know. Maker's blessings upon you, Arlessa Cousland. I pray we have not been too late._

     After leaving Wynne, I sought out the mysterious "Ser Wolf" that Tamra wrote of. The despicable bastard refused to speak without payment, like the coward he was. After paying him a small fortune, he finally relented and informed me that those who plotted against me in order to avenge the bastard Rendon Howe would be gathered at Old Stark's farm at midday.

     I looked at the position of the sun, gritting my teeth when I realized it had nearly reached its zenith. Midday was not afar off, and still there were miles to cover. I knew that Tamra would be there; that she would not wait for me. She was a knight, sworn in service to her people. She trusted me to better their lives; to protect them. Because of that trust, she would march into danger for them. Because of her faith. In me.

     I muttered a litany of curses under my breath as I whipped my stallion's flanks with the reins.

 _How did it come to this?_ I besheeched my thoughts and whatever gods would listen. _How did I reach such a state of complacency in despair that I did not take into account the full depth of a threat to my **life**!? And now...now of all times, when the sum of my desires has returned to me, when Leliana is here...Maker, why? I have sinned against her in so many ways, and again by not telling her of this. I should have told her...I should have done more than thrust Tamra's letter into her hand and yet...yet I had no time. No time to prepare, no time to think, no time to gather any sort of allies. At least I had the foresight to bring my swords with me to the city. _

     I continued my desperate ride, sweat beading on my forehead from the heat of the sun as it ceased its climb and began to descend from its midday height. It crept a bit lower and a farmstead came into view. I reined in my horse, realizing that both I and the animal were breathing far too heavily. The stallion's withers were lathered; the animal was drenched in sweat. I owed him a good rub-down and all the sweet oats I could find when...if...we found our way back to Amaranthine City.

     I dismounted at the fence and tied the horse to it, allowing him to rest and breathe for a moment. I approached at a slow walk, scanning the area before me. There were no horses outside the house, no guards stationed at the doors. It was an excellent place to hold a clandestine meeting. The house and the small barn were ramshackle. This farmstead had been abandoned for at least ten years, based strictly on the disrepair.

     Cautious, I moved further in, noticing the door left ajar...upon closer inspection, I saw it almost hanging off its hinges. I dismounted and drew my swords, edging closer to the door, unsure of what might await me within. I nudged the door with the toe of my boot, wincing as it creaked and fell to the earthen floor of the abandoned farmstead with a thud and a cloud of dust. All hope of subterfuge gone, I entered the house, swords at the ready.

     Once over the threshold, I stood still, listening for anything. There were no footfalls, no whispers, no hints that anyone might have remained behind. However, there were dark splotches on the walls and the floor. They did not look old. I stepped further in to the house.

     _No one is here,_ the thick scent of copper and salt filled my senses. _But I smell blood. The stench is unmistakable._

     I knelt down and ran my fingers through one of the small spatters on the dirt. It smeared down my fingers with an unmistakable scarlet tint, but I brought it to my nose to confirm my suspicions. I followed the droplets, which grew in size towards a room that must have, at one time, been the bedchamber. I froze in the doorway, transfixed in horror.

     In the center of the room, resting in a macabre mockery of repose, lay the body of a young woman. Her armor had been stripped away, most likely stolen; her clothes were stained scarlet. It was not a single wound that killed her, but myriad injuries. She'd been tortured.

     "No." The strangled sound tore from my throat as I dropped to my knees in the dust.

     I reached out and stroked the blood-matted hair away from the youthful features of Ser Tamra's face. Her green eyes were wide, locked open in death, staring into her last atrocious memory. I reached out with trembling, scarred fingers, closing them for the final time. She deserved better than this. She deserved a better leader, a better ruler...a better guardian and protector.

     Her body was covered in shallow lacerations, decorated in them from her neck to the soles of her feet. Horrific, black bruising patterned her body. Her trousers had been...ripped open. My entire body trembled with rage.

     _Yet another **good, young **woman has paid the cost...how long will this continue!? _I clenched my shaking hands into fists as tears streamed from my eyes. _Too late. I was **too late! AGAIN!**_

     "When does it end?" I asked Tamra's motionless form. "How long must the good suffer, my Maker? I did not know her well, but she was _honest_. She was _good_. She was doing all that she _could_ to help _others!_ "

     _It was not her concern for **my** life that led her to warn me...but her belief that I could better the lives of her people. And she came here today...was she depending on me? Was she counting on my presence, my strength, my swords? Did she trust in my protection? Did you cry, Tamra? _ I stared at the gaping hole in her heart, the final wound that stole her life. _Did you cry as they stole your life?_

     I brushed the tears from my cheeks, leaving streaks of blood and dirt, not caring. I removed my cloak and draped it over her body, hiding the gruesome damage that had been dealt her. I wrapped my arms around her stiff, lifeless body and lifted her from the ground, carrying her from the hovel that her murderers would have made an ignominious grave.

     With great care, I placed her body on the back of my horse, securing her to the stallion's back with the rope from the saddlebags. She deserved a carriage, with mourners and an honor guard. Not to be dragged back to the city on the back of a broken horse, led by a shattered woman.

     _I do not even know if she had a family,_ I thought, disgusted with myself. _A husband, a lover...children, perhaps? How many hearts will ache at her absence? How many lives have been ruined by her death...a death in attempt to preserve my life?_

     I finished with my task and looked at the sky, at the treacherous sun, to the heaven beyond and the Maker who supposedly dwelt there, watching over his creation. In that moment, I despised him. I hated him...not more than I loathed myself.

     "How can you countenance this!?" I screamed, my voice echoing over the land, reaching no ear, knowing no reply. "How is it that evil can run free while good men and women perish!? Where _are_ you!? Where are you _when we need you **most!?**_ "

     _Heavens, hells, and angels! Where **are** you, my Maker!? You have spoken to Leliana; I have witnessed this! Why, then, will you not answer my cries!? Why are you deaf to me!? What have I done!? **What have I done!?**_

     Nothing. Nothing but the sound of the wind whipping through the grasses. I took my horse's bridle in hand, leading him and his precious burden back towards the city of Amaranthine. My heart screamed in my chest and I felt drained of all life. There was nothing left for me. And even less left for Tamra's courage and bravery.

     _She will be honored._ I swore to myself. _She will be honored, not for her noble blood, but for her purity of heart. I will see to it._

     Sweat dripped down my face and mingled with my tears, covering my skin with a sheen of salt and bitterness. I did not know how much longer I could remain strong. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that Leliana would return to Val Royeaux with the others. She had her calling now. Hers would lead so many to life and love and peace. Mine would take me only to my death.

     _Is this my new calling, oh silent god? Has the time of my defense of the living come to an end...so that I might bury the dead?_


	8. The Andraste Quandary

**Leliana**

     "Denying your fears will not allay them, Leliana." Wynne stated as she went to the window of the small room. She remained silent a moment, gazing out at the bustling streets of the city of Amaranthine. "You should read the letter."

     I stared at the parchment in my hands, remembering another letter, sealed with blood-red wax...a missive that had nearly torn Salem and I apart before we even had the chance to truly be together.

     "Do you know what it says?" I asked, running my finger along the opened edge.

     "I have my suspicions."

     The healer remained staring outside the window, her shoulders knotted with tension...I had witnessed this stance before. It was the way in which Wynne stood when one of us lay on the brink of death and she did not know if her gifts would be powerful enough to draw us back over to the land of the living.

     _She is worried._ I realized. _Worried for Salem and myself...Maker knows we have given her sufficient cause. We are the progenitors of worry, for it seems that neither of us can lead our lives in a way that is safe._

     "Very well then." I took a deep breath, sat on the edge of my bed, and opened the parchment, steeling my heart and reading the words.

* * *

     _To Salem Cousland, Arlessa of Amaranthine:_

 _I am afraid that the matter we discussed has only increased in gravity. More communications have been intercepted, translated, and passed on to their intended recipient, but not without great cost. I apologize that I could not come to you in person, but _while the identities of those who would see you dead have not yet been deciphered, we have been able to locate their meeting place. Suspicion abounds and I can trust no one, not even the courier who bears this message. I have informed a man of a...shadowy nature...of the information that I cannot disclose to you in writing. Seek out Ser Wolf of Rivain in Amaranthine, and mention my name to him. He will tell you what you need to know. Maker's blessings upon you, Arlessa Cousland. I hope we have not been too late.__

* * *

     "Those who would see her dead?" I questioned, looking at Wynne, alarm firing through my veins. "Wynne, did you know of this? What is going on?"

     Worry sparked in my heart and roared into full flame when the senior enchanter turned, sorrow in her weathered blue eyes. "It would appear that Salem has made enemies." She sat down beside me and took my hand. "I would hazard a guess that there are a great number of discontented vassals, who profited under Rendon Howe, and find the fact that his killer has been appointed their liege lord reprehensible...and deserving of being avenged."

     "I do not understand." I folded the parchment and set it aside so that Wynne did not witness the shaking of my hands. "Salem is a consummate protector. Gentle, kind, unobtrusive. Those who profited under Rendon Howe would surely double their prosperity under Salem's leadership, no?"

     Wynne smiled, comforting. "I am well aware that your knowledge of palace intrigues and the delicate relationships between liege lords and vassals far outstrips my own, but you must admit that, in a war-torn country, all the rules are changed. Gold is security, and those who profited from Howe's butchering was will find themselves impoverished by Salem's innate altruism. Poverty breeds fear, and fear smelts steel. Salem is in grave danger, and...given what I know of her fear...I fear for more than her life."

     My heart caught in my throat and my voice cracked as I asked. "What...what do you mean, Wynne?"

     "When I saw her and spoke to her, shortly before your ship arrived in the harbor, I felt a great unease in my spirit. She looked like one of the soldiers I had treated on the battlefield at Ostagar...the ones who knew their death was soon to come. As you know, Leliana, there are those who fight death, and those who accept their fate. Until now, Salem has always been the former."

     _Until now? Until... **now**. _

     "Oh." I breathed, shaken in my spirit and my soul. "No."

     "The body can only lose so much blood before it shuts down, Leliana." Wynne spoke, gentle as she had ever been. "The same can be said of the soul, and Salem is dangerously close to that precipice. I tell you this because...because love can blind, and because the ship that brought you here will depart, and Salem knows you will be aboard when it does. You are both cut from the same cloth...duty and calling at the expense of all else."

     _Salem knows? Or believes that she knows what I will do? How could she, when I do not know my next step from moment to moment?_

     "Has she said as much?" I asked, desperate to know, to understand.

     "Not with her words, no." Wynne's smile faded and it seemed as though her years weighed more heavily upon her than ever before. "But you know her better than anyone, Leliana. How often does she speak in words when simple action will suffice?"

     "Are you..." Memories began to fall into place, razor-edged puzzle pieces fitting together into a blade that sheared through my spirit. "...are you speaking of...of what she did to Cassandra?"

     Wynne nodded and her eyes filled with grief. "Salem's is a quiet desperation." She said. "So soft and repressed as to be nearly non-existent. But it is there, and it is _powerful_ , Leliana. I do not know what has driven her to these actions, but I can only imagine that it is a terrible grief, tremendous pain, and great anguish."

     _Her confession to me...about an action she nearly took..._ My thoughts raced like a galloping horse. _Not for lack of love, but out of desperation...and that desperation has not ended for her. **I** am at peace, **I** feel the comfort of her presence, **I...I** have no idea of what she has endured, and is continuing to endure, and I am afraid to ask, lest it shatter the peace that **I** feel. _

     "I do not know what to do." I confessed. "I can stay an assassin's blade and ferret out a plot, but...but that is not what you are asking of me, is it?"

     "No." Wynne smiled, kind. "I am asking that you allow the love that blinds the both of you to also open your eyes. _Speak_ to her, Leliana, not the words that come with ease, the declarations of passion from two souls too long separate, but the _difficult_ words that will bring pain and tears and despair."

     "If you..." The question felt more heated than I wished. "...if you also think that I will be aboard the ship when it departs, why would you ask me to curtail our joy with harshness?"

     "Because I am a selfish old woman." Wynne smiled. "Because you are the only one who can save the life of the woman I love as though she were my own child. She has no one, Leliana. No one to whom she can open the heart that holds worlds of compassion and light, and a depth of horror and agony that would daunt the staunchest warrior. You...you alone have held that heart in your hands." Tears formed in Wynne's eyes and flowed over her weathered, lined cheeks. "Salem gave me hope, Leliana...and I am too old to let hope die without contest."

     "Wynne, I do not even know where to begin." I confessed my weakness, my wariness, and my fear. "She has always protected me from her darker heart. She is loathe to reveal such a thing, even to me."

     "I know." Wynne patted my hand. "But I must ask you, regardless...for I fear that if an assassin's blade should find her, the body that survived more wounds than an army will be vanquished at last, because the soul it harbors is losing all hope."

     "Do you truly believe things are so dire?" I stared down at the ground, thinking of Kathyra's question.

     _Is she still paying for my freedom? Perhaps. Salem purchased the freedom of the world with her blood, and, without Morrigan's intervention, she would have paid for it with her life. She knows no other way...and no other option has been presented to her. Except...those few glittering weeks. The short span of time when we were free to live in love. Maker, help me! I do not know what to **do!**_

     "I believe they are." Wynne replied as she dried her tears...tears that frightened me. "You have a very unpleasant choice to make, Leliana. It is a choice I would wish upon no one, not even my enemy."

     "You would ask me to choose Salem?" I asked, not angry...rather...lost. "Above life, above duty, above this...this _calling_ , as it were?"

     "I would ask you to choose according to your heart." Wynne answered. "For the difficulty of our choice is that there exists no wrong decision. I ask only that you set Salem free, in whatever manner your heart dictates to you. The soul can die from lack of hope...it can also perish from an overabundance of the same."

     "I need time." I whispered, almost frantic with confusion and despair. "I need time to think, to...to sort all of this out."

     "I know, my dear." Wynne said, sorrow etched in her tones. "The true horror of life is its brevity, the rapid waves that alter our lives while we drown, nearly helpless, beneath them. I am here for the both of you, child, and I would see the love that bloomed amidst the desolation of a world continue, and strengthen, but it will not so long as the both of you remain silent."

     "Have you spoken to Salem of this?" I asked. "If she is as desperate as you seem to believe, then why has she not come to me? Why is she off chasing conspiracies and plots?"

     Wynne rose from the bed and her knees creaked. "The answer to that question, and many of its like, is simple. Salem has no desire to make your choices more difficult, Leliana."

     "Why?" I asked, frustrated that the mage seemed to know my wife's heart and mind better than I knew it myself.

     "Do not hide from the answer." Wynne chided, not unkind. "She remains silent for the same reason that she let you walk away from her as often as you did."

     My self-imposed ignorance fell away and I knew the words, and their truth, before Wynne even spoke them.

     "She loves you, Leliana." Wynne reminded me. Four simple words that meant everything, that defined everything, that _were_ everything.

     The senior enchanter departed the room, leaving me alone with her revelations and my thoughts. I remained seated on the bed, staring at the floor, my own mind ripping me apart.

     _Salem and I fell in love in the midst of the Blight. We were allowed to love inside the confines and parameters of her mission, her calling...my love of her...my love of her is outside of **my** calling...is it not? _ I worried my lower lip with my teeth. _I do not know. Maker, I beg of you, send me more than cryptic dreams and the furor of unanswerable questions... **please**. _

     I stared down at the signet ring...my wedding ring, placed on my finger by the woman I loved so...so very, very much. With all of my heart. With more than my soul. The ship would leave Amaranthine and return to Val Royeaux. I would be expected to be aboard. Those in power believed that I now belonged to them, that they owned and possessed me but...but I belonged here. With my wife. However, I had seen the _Maker_ in the flesh, and been given a new, glorious, and beautiful purpose.

     _Will I be on that ship?_ I questioned myself. _My heart desires to choose both...my warden, and my Maker. I am torn between two loves, mortal and divine...and it was...it was in this same position..._

_...that Andraste failed._


	9. Contrition

**Salem**

     The sun hung low in the sky as I approached the gates of Amaranthine. Vivid oranges and soothing reds coated everything in the light of a dying day. My eyes stung from the salt of my sweat and I wiped my brow, continuing to trudge through the streets, carrying my burdens, mental and physical.

     I ached, deep in my bones to the core of my soul. My water had run out shortly after I left farmstead, and I'd eaten nothing all day. My head pounded with unmitigated ferocity and I reached up and pinched the bridge of my nose as I trudged through the cit streets. My path led me to the Chantry. I tethered my horse to the hitching post and began untying Tamra's body. The stallion buried his face in the nearby water trough and began quenching his thirst. My own thirst could wait. 

     "Maker's breath!" A young lay sister exclaimed, rushing down the stairs and coming to my side. "Arlessa, is everything all right? This woman, is she..."

     "She is dead, sister." I replied, grief choking in my throat. "I...I would like to request a room where I might see to the necessary preparations. And also, if you could be so kind, someone to care for my horse."

     She beckoned a young man who stood within the Chantry. "Brother Alvin will see to your horse, milady. You needn't trouble yourself over the woman." The sister hastened to unsaddle the stallion as I removed and cradled Tamra's limp, broken body. "The sisters can see to preparing her for the pyre. You look exhausted and must take care of..."

     "There is nothing more pressing to me than this matter." I told her, attempting not to sound brusque. "She was a knight of Amaranthine and a..." Emotion strangled me. "...a good woman."

     "Of course, arlessa. Please, follow me." The sister led me through a separate entrance, so that the meditations and tasks of the other Chantry brothers and sisters would not be disturbed.

     She brought me to a room with a stone table in the center, lit by oil lamps hung on the wall. "This should suit your needs, milady. Is there anything else you require?"

     "Water, cloths, and robes. Also, if you could inform my wi...Leliana...that I have returned, I would be most appreciative."

     "Of course, milady." She bowed and left the room.

     I set Tamra's body onto the stone table, feeling oddly comforted by the scent of death and blood. It had been so ever-present in my life. A thing of constancy. A thing that never changed. Something that would never be taken from me, no matter how much I desired it gone. A life drenched in blood and death and decay was the inheritance of those who partook of the Joining.

     I sighed and began my task. I removed the remains of her clothing, lace by lace, fragment by fragment, each one consistently more difficult to undo as my hands began trembling. At last, her clothing was removed and I flung the last piece of it to the stone floor in a fit of rage and anguish. She did not deserve this.

     _This is not fair!_ I railed against fate in my thoughts. _This is all manner of wrong, and there are none who notice or **care** as death overtakes the world! _

     The accoutrements I had asked for appeared as if by magic, a silent Chantry brother delivering them and leaving as quietly as he came. I withdrew my knife and cut away Tamra's clothing, biting my lip as I bared the wounds in her flesh, that left her body disfigured and her heart pierced through. The dead, clotted blood stuck to my hands as I washed them, taking forever to fade away.

     "Forgive me, Tamra." I whispered as I soaked a thick, heavy cloth in water and began to wash her body. "I promise that you will not be forgotten. I promise you that you will be mourned. I promise," Tears flowed freely down my face, again, "I promise that your people will be cared for, and kept safe."

     Gentle, careful, I washed the blood from her wound and the dirt from her face, witnessing the youthfulness of her countenance. Even in death, her lips were lifted, a sign of a woman quick to laughter and eager to appreciate the joys of the world. I wished that I might have known her more, better, in life.

     _She was a woman who wielded the sword; who wanted peace._ I lifted her head and placed the basin of water beneath it, cupping the water in my hand and using it to wash the dirt from her golden hair. _A woman that sought better things for those considered beneath her station...a woman who risked her life to protect them...and me. I am not worth her life...as the Grey Warden's were not worth Mhairi's breath and blood and bone._

     "Was I ever like you?" I wondered aloud as I began to dress Tamra in the white robes that the Chantry brother delivered. "Was I ever so desperately good. Had I continued my life as it was, before Rendon Howe, as the youngest child of a noble house, would I have been like you?" I looked into Tamra's closed eyes, seeking my identity, seeking for myself in her frozen features. "Would I have been willing to sacrifice everything for the good of my people?" I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose as the headache became more severe. "I would like to believe so...but I will never know that now, will I?"

     "You would have been." A soft, sweet voice came from the door.

     "You cannot know that." I answered, hanging my head, unwilling to turn, to look upon my wife's beauty.

     _I am not meant to witness such things. Mine are the eyes that see death and pain and torment. My eyes are the ones scarred from gazing across the wide divide between mortal and divine. I cannot look upon beauty, upon purity, upon good things. Love was all that I had left, and even that, the Maker denied me. He took her from my side to be his own...for **no** mortal was meant to embrace such a woman as Leliana...to hold her wild, beautiful, free heart in fragile, incompetent hands. _

     "I can, and I do." She replied. "Do not forget that I witnessed your return to Highever. Your people loved you, Salem. I have never seen a noble so adored in any country."

     "They were greeting the Hero of Ferelden." I answered, still staring at Tamra's milk-white, lifeless body.

     "They were greeting _you_." She insisted, moving to my side and laying her head on my shoulder. I flinched at her touch, but she held firm, refusing to relinquish her grip. "They were greeting a woman who, without being asked, was willing to give _everything_ , up to and including her life, for their safety. And that has not changed, and in no way was it formulated by your warden blood. You were that woman before what happened, Salem."

     "You did not know me then." I spoke as tremors began coursing through my entire body as exhaustion from the arduous walk, great thirst, hunger, and my own restrained emotions threatened to rip me apart.

     "You did not know me as the Nightingale." Leliana replied, the cadence of her voice so comforting, so serene, so antonymic to the turmoil of emotions in my soul. "And still you saw in me the goodness of the woman I once was...and have become again...with your love."

     _No. No. I cannot speak of this. Not now. Not when I am surrounded by death, weak in body and soul._

     "Why have you come?" I asked her, straightening the wrinkles in Tamra's robes, clenching my jaw as my shivering worsened.

     "Because you need not face death alone." She whispered. "Because I know your soul, Salem Cousland, _and_ your body. You are on the edge of collapse already...let me be here for you."

     _Yes. You do. You know me as none other ever have, or ever will. And still there is no one else that I can be. I do not know how to change, Leliana. I do not know how to move forward...I tried, once. I tried with you, and was no near success...the woman who smiled easily and laughed more often...the woman that you left to preserve. I have failed you, dear heart. Without you, I was lost._

     "She...she is the woman who sent the letter I gave you." I moved away from Tamra's body and my wife's touch, letting Leliana see the woman who had risked everything...and given all. "I went to join her at the meeting place, but I was too late. The conspirators were gone, and Tamra was...she was alone, Leliana. She died _alone_ and I could not protect her! She died for _me_!"

     My voice cracked and I crossed my arms over my abdomen, shuddering violently. The pounding in my skull increased ten-fold and I groaned.

     "Salem." Leliana wrapped her arm about my waist. "Salem, I am here for you. Please, my love, _speak_ to me."

     _I want to. I want to, but I cannot find words. I cannot find trust to give...not if you are leaving me. I cannot give you more of what little is left of me and allow you to take it away._

     "Let me bury my dead, Leliana." I moved away from her yet again, muscles knotting as I forced them under my control. "It is the least I can do for the woman who gave her life for my own."

     "As you wish, Salem."

     I reached for Tamra's body, halted by Leliana as she wrapped her arms around me yet again and rested her head on my back and shoulder.

     "Do not shut me out, my love." She begged. "When this is done, let me offer you comfort. Let me offer you rest. I can feel your exhaustion and your pain."

     "I am not good company this night." I growled between my teeth, forcing myself not to break apart.

     "Please." She whispered, a haunting, tempting lullaby. "It is the least I can do for the woman who gave her life for my own."


	10. Her Darker Heart

**Leliana**

     I sat on the edge of the bed in my room, hands clasped in my lap, body wire tight, as though anticipating an attack. I stared at the pitcher of water and plate of food I'd brought to the room, thinking of my wife. She was so pale, her body shaking with hunger, thirst, and exertion. I was worried for her...so very, very worried. Even the moonlight filtering in through the window could not calm my soul. I shuddered as I remembered the manic look in Salem's eyes as she gazed on the body of the dead knight. 

     _As though she wanted to open the woman's skin and lie there within it, still and marble, at peace with the world. When I first met her, she was broken, clean lines of sorrow and pain. But this...what I have witnessed from her tonight...it is as though something has shattered, razor bladed, fragmented, a snarlball tangle of emotions so deeply wrapped in on themselves that they have no beginning, end, or true voice._

     The door swung open and I recoiled from the sound, regretting the reaction. I bit my lip, hoping that Salem had not seen my reaction, lest it...

_...damage her further? I doubt that is possible. Oh, Maker..._

     I looked into my wife's face as she gazed at me, my heart clenching in pain as I saw the agony, utter and complete, written into her silver-blue eyes. Salem moved to the fireplace, her limp pronounced, her old injury prominent in her exhaustion. She leaned against the mantle, buried her face in her hands, and sighed.

     I wanted nothing more than to go to her, to offer comfort and concern, a caring touch and tender kiss. But I could not...for she would do as I had done. Ignore all else for the sake of a moment of bliss and surrender. No, I could not offer her myself. But I could offer her something to help her...she trembled still. I could see her shuddering as she stood.

     I rose from my seat and poured a cup of water, taking it to her and setting it atop the mantle. She turned and stared at it, but did not move to take it. This close to her, I could feel her shivering. I clenched my jaw in worry. I wanted to quench her thirst, feed her, remove her clothing and guide her into sleep with a gentle touch. She felt so ragged, so raw and open next to me.

     "You need to drink, Salem." I whispered. "I can see that you're dehydrated, and you are near collapse. Please, drink." I pleaded with her as she remained still. "I have no wish to see you fall ill."

     Salem reached out and lifted the cup, draining it in one gulp. The act frustrated me, because she knew better. She knew to sip the water, lest it make an unpleasant reappearance. She replaced the cup on the mantle, and sighed.

     "Thank you for the water...but I should go." Salem spoke before I could think of a thing to say. "I am a wreck and you are afraid."

     "I am not afraid." I countered, trying to find something to cling to...a way to say the _difficult_ words that so desperately needed spoken.

     "I can smell it on you." Her voice was...dark. The low, lyric notes that I so loved were warped and twisted, deep and grating, nearly inhuman. "We can speak another time."

     She turned from me and I started for the door and a ferocity rose in me as she turned her back and moved for the door, her limp a devastating reminder of all the trials she had faced. I had no wish to break her further, but this needed to happen.

     _I **will not** lose her! _

     "No." I replied, my words laced with steel. "Another time may not exist for us, Salem."

     "Do not try me further, Leliana." She warned. "I am not myself this night."

     "Cease trying to spare me the darker part of yourself!" I exclaimed, striding to the door and blocking it with my body. "Salem, _please,_ I am at my wit's end and I do not even know how to approach you! I can see that you're hurting, that you're unwell! I want to help you!"

     "Back away, Leliana." She growled, and I shivered, afraid of the menace in her voice.

     "No." I said, backing against the door, securing myself in the knowledge of her love, the knowledge that those hands would never be raised in violence against me, even though memories fired through my mind like arrows from my bow, recalling Marjolaine's fury and the bitter price of failure. "No, I will not back down."

     "Leliana..."

     " _Hear me out!_ " I shouted, not caring who might hear. "I _love_ you, Salem Cousland! I _want **everything**_! I want the _blood_ , the _death_ , the _wounds_ , and the _**pain!**_ I want the nightmares that wrack your soul and the anguish behind your eyes!"

     "Do not lie to me!" Salem's eyes sparked and her voice rose, fierce and accusatory. "Do not tempt me with sweet promises of love! I _swore_ myself to you; I have sacrificed peace and _my **sanity**_ for your sake!"

     "Do not spell out before me yet another litany of your _sacrifices!_ " I hissed. "Is that your shield now, _Warden Commander!?_ Is this how you protect yourself from the cruel realities of life!? By hiding in that shell of martyrdom and guilt and burdens that you _cannot seem to **exist** without!?_ "

     "Says the woman who lived in fear that I did _nothing_ to inspire!?" Salem asked, her words like knives against my skin. "I cared for you and carried you, bled for you and _died_ for you! And for what? For the woman who consistently walks away to tell me she wants _everything?_ How can you even claim the truth of those words when you have never remained beside me long enough to witness the extent of _everything!?"_

     "How could I even attempt to begin when you do nothing but lock your heart away!?" I asked, desperate, hurting, terrified.

     " _I. Am. **Broken!** " _She screamed, a wail of consummate anguish and a pain so deep that it would bring the heartless to tears. A pain that had no end, a torment without ceasing. "But I have _tried_! Leliana..." Her right leg jerked violently and she collapsed to her knees. She did not attempt to rise; simply held out her hands in supplication. "...how can I give you what has no name? Every moment without you has been a dagger in my gut, exsanguinating my very _soul!_ Since you left, I have been assailed by enemies on all sides. Rendon Howe's son, a volatile mage who despises me for freeing him, a murderous elf, a broken country...every voice screaming and pleading and clamoring for my help or calling for my death and I can give them nothing because... _Because. I. Am. **Nothing!** " _

     _You are everything,_ old words from her lips whispered against my ears and tears vaulted from my eyes and spilled down my cheeks, hot and thick as blood. _To me, you are everything._

     "Do not say that." I begged.

     "I have never denied you the truth, Leliana." She spoke, defeated. "Such a thing is not within me. But this time spent without you...I have subsisted on memories of us. Heavens, hells, and angels...I have hallucinated the sound of your voice. I have foregone sleep so that I do not dream of you in torment. I let the son of Rendon Howe walk free, because of _your_ belief in redemption, and I have woken with a blade at my throat for that choice. And he let me _live_ , Leliana. He let me live because I splayed before him the _hell_ that is my existence...and in realizing that death would be merciful, he _sentenced_ me to _torture!"_

     _Salem..._ I lifted a hand to cover my mouth as I breathed in jerking, silent sobs. _Oh, Salem, can it be true? Can it be true that you...you should have died that day atop Fort Drakon? That it would have brought you peace? No...no...Maker, this **cannot** be true...for if it is, **I** am to blame for this pain. She walked out of paradise...for **me**. _

     I knelt before her and cupped her face in my hands, lifting her agonized, tortured, tear-filled eyes to mine. "Salem, why?" I asked the _difficult_ question. "You could have _anything_ you desire, peace and freedom and even...even death. _Why_ would you not spare yourself this torment?"

     Her lips trembled and her brow creased in confusion and hurt. "I...I made you a promise."


	11. Horrific Confessions

**Salem**

_What am I doing?_ Horror filled me as realization entered Leliana's ocean blue eyes, as the calm resolution in them faded into a shuddering terror.  _This is not...this is not as it should be. Maker above help me, I **never** wanted to hurt her! _

     "W--what do you mean?" She asked, her hand against my skin beginning to shake.

     "I promised you that I would not die." I answered, pulling away from her, hanging my head in shame. "No matter my desire, my selfish, _ridiculous_ desire, I could never go back on my word to you, Leliana."

     "This is...this is my fault." Leliana whispered, her fingers threading through my hair, her tears unceasing. "I am the cause of your sorrow and...and you are paying for my freedom."

     "No." I reached out, hating myself for the pain she was now in. "Do not make yourself the cause of my suffering. I could not...could not bear it. Let me carry this, dear heart. I deserve to."

     "Let you carry this as you have carried _everything!?_ " She demanded, incredulous, backing away, standing, leaving me on my knees, exhausted and desperate. "How many times must we...must _I_ beg you to stop giving of yourself!? Even broken, will you let nothing touch you? Even shattered, will you never allow yourself a moment of _peace!?_ " She pressed her hand to my forehead. "You're too warm, Salem. You're making yourself ill, Salem."

     "How can I allow myself a peaceful moment?" I ignored her concern for my health and focused on her other words. "How can I, Leliana, when the _only_ peace I have known has been in your arms...and you are...are not there. None of this is your responsibility. You did everything you could. You stayed with me after Fort Drakon and defied your fear. You burned the Chantry's letter in order to stay at my side. You defied a god...you chose me...and were not allowed to make that decision. It was torn from your hands, as it was torn from mine."

     Her eyes turned to me, shocked. Her shoulders dropped, the tension in them vanishing as confusion planted itself in her eyes. "Do you truly believe that, Salem?" She asked. "No heart can be truly free of anger, and you have ever denied yourself that emotion."

     _Am I angry?_ I asked myself, waiting for the answer to reveal itself. _Yes. I am._

     I looked at the woman I loved, the woman who held my heart and soul, who understood me as none other could, and I wept. I wept for the cruelty and the grace that had taken from me, the source of my rage and the forger of my suffering. I was so tired. My body still trembled from the abuse of the day. I did not feel right inside my skin.

     "I am angry, Leliana." I spoke. "But not at you. I have given everything, time and time and time again...and each and every moment, the god that allows me a future, that allows me a chance, a moment, a glimpse of what life _could_ be...only to snatch it away and leave me with _**nothing!** " _

     Leliana remained before me, kneeling with me, her eyes anguished. I knew the expression on her features, having worn it all too many times. She was at war with herself, fighting her mind...as I was in combat with mine.

     "After Fort Drakon, I spoke with my mother in the Fade." I told Leliana what I had revealed to no one, not even her. "And she painted the picture of a kind, loving god. She told me that the Maker would forgive, because the true face of god has been hidden from his people. I was promised mercy; I was promised peace and truth and a _life_ beyond the Blight. _Only for that **same god** to **tear** you from my arms and leave me desolate again! **Yes,** Leliana! I. Am. **Furious!**_ Furious and torn because _no matter_ the gravity of my sacrifice, it is flung back in my face as a task undone! Even my life...even a life separated from you...has been denied me."

     My lips stung with the confession. A truth I did not wish revealed broke from me and I slumped further towards the ground, torn between wishing to stay, to reveal to Leliana the true depths of my sorrow, and to leave her, awash in the guilt caused by my confession.

     "What do you mean, Salem?" She asked, piercing me with her eyes, eyes alight with flame and fury and so much grief that my heart broke yet further.

     _Tell her,_ my better heart spoke. _Tell her, and ease her path. Let her free herself from the guilt she does not deserve. She needs to know...it might ease her choice, and give me the ability to prepare myself for the inevitable to come._

     "Do you remember what I told you of the sentient, speaking darkspawn, Leliana?"

     "Yes." Bewilderment creased her brow. "What bearing does it have on this?"

     "The creature that leads them, the one performing experiments...I took its writings and its research and I...I discovered something about the Grey Wardens not previously known, perhaps even by them."

     "What is it?" Her voice trembled, but her eyes did not leave mine. "Salem, what _is it_?" She asked when I did not reply.

     "In the Joining, the blood of an archdemon is often used. Just a drop, no more than that. The creature's discoveries state that the wardens exposed to the blood of an archdemon are sentenced to a shorter lifespan than previously thought."

     _Oh, Maker, help me. Help me tell her. Please._

     "And...and was this blood used in your Joining?" She asked, coming nearer, her hands reaching out for me before falling away as indecision wracked her.

     "I have no way of knowing." I answered, beginning to shake once again. "Only Duncan could have told me and he is...he is dead. Even that does not matter, Leliana. Any warden exposed to an archdemon's blood will find their lives cut short. The greater amount of blood, the shorter the time."

     A low, keening moan broke from Leliana's lips as her eyes roved over my body, mapping the scars beneath my clothing, remembering the horrific wounds, caused by the blood that had eaten through my skin and into my veins, tainting me yet further. Killing me even now.

     "How..." Her voice cracked. "...how long? How long, Salem?" I remained silent, dreading the truth, but knowing that I would never lie to her. " _Damn you, **tell** me!" _

     I longed to touch her, as though holding her against me would soften the blow. but it would not. Nothing could. Nothing could make this knowledge any easier to bear and nothing...nothing in this world existed that would buy me more time.

     "I will..." I replied, barely above a whisper, "...I will most likely..." I hung my head, "...two years...and that is optimistic."

     "No." Leliana breathed, shaking her head back and forth, attempting to deny the truth. "No. Salem...Salem... _No!_ "

     "I," I lifted my hands, palm up, empty and with nothing to offer her, "I am sorry, Leliana. I've nothing to give you...even my life, such as it is, is worth nothing any longer."

     Shock rocketed through me as she flung herself forward and wrapped her arms around me in a fierce embrace. I inhaled the scent of her, drowning in it as I returned her affection, twining my arms around her body and letting her hold me close. For inasmuch as sorrow existed here, so did love, so did peace, so did everything I had ever needed. I did not want to let her go. Ever.

     "How?" Leliana whispered. "How can you be so cruel?"

     I knew that the question was not meant for my ears but that she spoke, as I often had, to the unhearing Maker...the author of my grief.

     _Perhaps he will answer her._ I thought, burying my face in Leliana's shoulder, clinging to her. _He did take her from me...from a mortal love that would not suffice._

     "I love you, Leliana." I breathed. "No matter what may transpire, _no_ power in Thedas will change that. I am ours, and, no matter your decision, whatever it may be, I will remain so."

     She held me tighter, shaking as silent sobs tore from her throat. "I want..." She spoke between ragged breaths, "...I want...so much...to be with you."

     "I understand." I rubbed my hand along her back, offering her what comfort I could. "You are no longer mine, against every choice the both of us have ever made."

     She sagged in my arms, admitting our ultimate defeat, admitting the truth of my words in a silent capitulation to a force and will stronger than the both of us together.

     "I am yours." She whispered. "At least, for tonight, I am yours. Let me hold you close, and dream with you, and build a world away from and outside of fate."

     I warred with myself, knowing that allowing this wish would serve but to make things more difficult. But I _needed_ her, I _longed_ for her, and I _**wanted**_ that which I could never have.

     _Only if for a night._

     I moved out of her embrace and lifted her face to mine. "Yes." I breathed. "A thousand times, yes."

     Leliana got to her feet and extended her hand, her eyes filling with concern when I did not take it. She reached down and brushed my hair away from my face, feeling my forehead with the backs of her fingers. Whatever she felt led her to frown.

     "You've either burned from the sun, or you're running a slight fever." She murmured. "Perhaps both. You need to rest, my love. Take my hand."

     "I am afraid I might need more assistance than that." I breathed, almost ashamed. "My leg is still shaking. I do not think it will take my weight."

     "You poor thing." She knelt down beside me again, wrapping her arm around my waist and helping me stand.

     I attempted to place weight on my right leg, but it refused to support me. I swayed and Leliana caught me, guiding me over to the bed and helping me sit, bustling around the room in a furor of worry. I found a cup of water in my hands and a bowl of stew on the table beside me.

     "Eat." My wife ordered. "Drink."

     Before I could do anything, Leliana lifted my legs and swung them onto the bed, then propped up pillows behind me, easing me back against them. My nerves screamed in pleasure and need as Leliana's deft hands found the laces of my trousers. She pulled them off, folded them, and set them aside, frowning at me until I started sipping the water.

     My beloved wife rested her hands on my right leg, closing her eyes and feeling for what damage might have been done.

     "The muscles are spasming badly, Salem." She whispered. "Does it...does it hurt?"

     "Yes." I muttered into the bowl of stew. "But it is not unbearable."

     Her lithe, strong fingers began a deep tissue massage, attempting to relax the muscles, permanently damaged by the archdemon. I groaned in relief, slumping back against the pillows, glorying in her healing touch. Neither of us knew what her decision would be, but for this night, she was mine again. I would cherish it.

     Forever.


	12. Ever Summoned Away

**Leliana**

     _How did it come to this?_ I wondered, watching moonlight paint Salem's face with a serenity so antonymic to the mental state of the woman herself. _How did a love so fierce, so strong, powerful to the point of transcending death, ever find itself so easily torn apart? And not by one, or the other, but by time and fate and the edicts of a mysterious god? Why, Maker? Why?_

     I cradled Salem in my arms as she slept, feeling every delicate curve of her body, trailing my fingers over the crimson scarring that flowed down her back, lacing over the scars from her flogging, the swipes from a dragon's claws, and the stab wound she had received within Fort Drakon. In spite of all of these scars, she never once allowed her body to define her. But, unlike me, she'd never once believed her body to be her sole source of worth.

     _So beautiful,_ I thought, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, _so beautiful and damaged. No hero has ever been rendered in finer colors than this patchwork of skin and scarring. No hero has ever known her level of forgiveness, or her acceptance of this bitter, bitter fate._

     Silent tears slipped from my eyes as I realized the truth depth of Salem Cousland's heart. In the tales, the heroes fought against the injustice visited upon them by fate and the gods, rising above every trial, even in death surpassing the mortal coil and reuniting with the ones that they loved.

     Never did the hero look at their paramour with sorrow in their eyes, raise their hands, and proclaim that they had nothing left to give. Never did the hero forgive fate. And yet...in my eyes...those legends of the tales seemed the lesser for their defiance. They seemed weaker, somehow, in spite of the glory that time and re-telling attributed to them.

     I remembered the tale I had told Salem long ago, of the two lovers who had joined each other in the stars. I recalled the way she gazed into the sky, a sorrowful light in her beautiful eyes, not shedding a tear as she realized that such an ending, no matter when it came, would not be written for us. Even then, she had somehow known the pain and tragedy that our fates would hold, if intertwined.

     I twirled the ring on my finger, looking at the image carefully engraved into the silver circle. The rampant mabari of House Cousland. The symbol of the woman I loved, whose name I chose to wear, and gladly.

     _This will be all that remains,_ I thought. _All that remains of a legacy that deserves to be scribed in the constellations and relayed to generations and generations and Ages to come. The tale of a woman who was visited by naught but sorrow and suffering, naught but tragedy and trial, and did not but accept the fate she could not fight against, with eyes full of tears and a heart full of love._

     _There is no magical cure for this,_ I pulled her against me, needing to feel the warmth and security of her body near mine, to hear the beating of her heart and listen to the cadence of her breath. _There is no witch with secrets of the arcane. Salem's fate is immutable; her brilliant, bold life cut miserably short._

     "What is this, my Maker?" I asked the silence and starlight. "why have you blessed me with friends, and comforts, and securities, and torn hers away? Why did you promise her forgiveness, and deny her rest? If it truly was her love that awakened you from silence, then why was I chosen? Why not her? I believe in you, with my whole heart, and I have seen you and spoken to you and been marked by you...then why do you refuse to answer her cries? Why are you deaf to her torment?"

     No answer came. Not from the moonlight dripping onto the floor, not from the wind that blew gently outside of the window, nor from the oil lamp that flickered on the wall. Nothing. No whispers. No words of comfort from somewhere beyond the realm of mortality.

     _This must be a test,_ I bit my lip and closed my eyes, rolling onto my back and attempting to erase the tension in my soul. _A test to discover if I will make the same grave error as Andraste. Whatever her choice, it was not in accordance with the Maker's will...but so much of the histories have been lost or distorted. I cannot place myself inside her mind, inside her body. I cannot understand her own questions, the indecision that must have wracked her as surely as it is crippling me. She deserves my choice, swiftly made._

     I rested my head on Salem's shoulder and inhaled her scent. Smoke. Copper. Salt. In spite of the situation, I felt comfort emanating from her, a cloak of peace and a sense that all was well within the world. She gave me peace. She gave me love. She gave me everything she could...and more.

 _How could choosing her be wrong?_ I wondered. _And yet, the promises I have made...to Kathyra, to Kestrel, to myself...how could I turn my back on my given word in good conscience? Save for the fact,_ I wiped tears from my eyes, tired of grief, yet unable to escape from it, _that I swore my first vows of loyalty to her. That I took her ring, and her name, and that any deeds I have done since making that oath, be they of great or little import, have been because of those vows._

     "You have given me such strength, m love." I whispered to her sleeping form. "So much that I am afraid you have none left for yourself. How is it possible that one person, one heart, one soul, one body, can give so much...and still be so forgiving, and not harbor anger? You are inhuman, Salem Cousland. And I love you."

     I closed my eyes as slumber began to haze the thoughts that surged through me. As I neared the brink of oblivion, the door rattled.

     Salem jolted from slumber and immediately scrabbled for her shirt as cries of "Arlessa, arlessa, are you there!?" came from behind the door.

     I sat up, clutching the covers to my chest, alarm erasing any thought of sleep from my mind. Salem pulled her shirt on and raced for the door, wrenching it open to reveal a city guardsman, hopping from foot to foot.

     "What is it?" Salem asked, her voice carefully controlled, showing no hint of her earlier despair, grief, and vulnerability.

     "Messenger bird from Seneschal Varel, milady." The guardsman spoke, his words tumbling over themselves. "Guards have reported a group of armed peasants amassing on Vigil's Keep, bearing torches and some even carrying weapons. You are needed immediately."

     "Ready my horse." Salem ordered, showing the impassive face and impossible calm that had carried Ferelden through the Blight.

     She closed the door and I flung the covers off and scrambled off of the bed. "Let me go with you." I begged as she pulled on her boots and strapped her swords to her back. She wore no armor...nothing good ever happened when she had no armor.

     "No." She shook her head, vehement. "An unfamiliar face at my side will only rile them further."

     "Salem, it isn't safe." I entreated, placing a trembling hand on her shoulder. "There are those out for your blood; how do you know this is not something perpetrated by them?"

     "I do not." She answered, clipped and professional. The mask had already been set, and no amount of pleading could remove it. "All the more reason for you to remain behind." She pinched the bridge of her nose and I winced, knowing the reason for the gesture. "It never ends for us, does it, Leliana?"

     The question required no answer. Circumstance had answered it for us all too clearly, and all too well.

     "Be careful, my love." I took both of her hands in mine, begging her with my touch, with my eyes and words. "You're still weak from your walk across Amaranthine. Please just...return to me?"

     Her lips pressed to mine in an all too brief, all too meaningful kiss. "Always."

     Then the door opened and closed, and she was gone, and I was alone...alone and terrified, not knowing if this was a promise she would be able to keep.


	13. To Serve as a Leader

**Salem**

     The crowd surged around me as I pushed my horse forward, through them, towards the steps of the Keep. Many of them held torches, others implements of their professions: scythes, adzes, pitchforks, and sickles. The tools of men and women who earned their life through the sweat of their brow and the ache of their muscles. The men and women I respected more than most of the nobility and knights I'd ever known. A handful of the Keep's guards stood before the gates, holding their spears at the ready. 

     "We demand justice!" A man, the obvious ringleader, stood in front of Varel, screaming at him, shaking his torch. "We demand to see the arlessa who would let us fall to ruin!"

     I swung out of the saddle and my horse tossed his head, ill at ease with the contentious energy that hung in the air. I walked to the two men and moved Varel behind me. The ringleader squared his shoulders, insulted at the fact that I'd removed him from speaking to someone he believed to hold more power than me.

     "I am Salem Cousland." I informed the man, watching him puff out his chest and straighten, attempting to appear taller, more intimidating. "What is it that you have to say to me."

     "How can you look at us with your face set as stone!?" He railed. "It must be true what they say; that your heart is hard and cold as ice! Look at you, surrounded by guards and behind thick walls as you let the darkspawn rape and ravage our land! We demand sanctuary! We demand action! We demand restitution for what has been stolen!"

     The throng of chattering, yelling people drew in closer around us, their torches rising, their implements brandished. Captain Garevel came to my side, longsword drawn, his shield attached to his arm.

     "This has an easy solution, arlessa." He spoke. "Have the guards disperse the rabble. You've not dealt much with these people. They will not be quieted or set to rest. Blood is all they understand, and violence the one language that translates well into common." He spat at the feet of the ringleader.

     I glared at my guard captain. _It is those very beliefs that have made kings into tyrants and good men into murderers._

     "Yes!" The ringleader shouted. "Run us through and prove yourself a despot! Prove yourself no better than Rendon Howe as you water the ground with the blood of those who have lost too much already! The darkspawn razed my farm to the ground! My wife was killed and my son lies on the brink of death! Does he deserve to die too!"

     "If you give one order without my authority, Garavel, I will hang you myself." I hissed at the man making things worse, and turned my attention back to the ringleader, gratified when his eyes widened the slightest bit with disbelief. "What do you want?" I asked him, keeping my voice even, no matter how much I longed to raise it, to decry him in return for the _audacity_ of equating me to Rendon Howe.

     "Salem, surely you..." Varel began, but I lifted my hand and clenched it into a fist, silencing him with the gesture.

     "We want protection!" The ringleader interrupted. "We want security! That which the liege lord is _commanded_ to provide! If necessary, we are prepared to take the Keep itself, come what may! We will _die_ to ensure our lands and families!"

     The guards bristled, the clatter of their armor and steel chafing against my ears as it riled the crowd further in their frenzy. Torches waved haphazardly beneath the night sky, along with the sounds of shattering glass and the impatient footfalls of rioters.

     "What good will that do you?" I asked, looking into his eyes, surveying the crowd. "If you overrun the guards and take the Keep, with what skill at arms will you defend yourself against the darkspawn? With you here, behind these walls, what will happen to your crops, your fields, and your future. Rendon Howe bankrupted these lands...and _you_ and those with you are necessary to Amaranthine's survival."

     "She is speaking sense, Lawrence." A female voice rose above the rest. "You told us we were coming here to speak to the arlessa and give voice to our disquiet in a peaceful manner...not...not gather a mob and threaten violence."

     "Seal your lips, woman!" Lawrence fumed, stepping in close to me, so near that I could smell the stench of liquid courage...whiskey...on his breath. "You above all know that the nobility will never listen to their people if they come in peace! Blood has been taken and blood shall be our repayment!" His flashing eyes turned to me. "How _dare_ you hide away in your Maker-be-damned castle while the rest of us suffer! How dare you let our wives, children, husbands, and brothers fall beneath the blades of the darkspawn! At least Rendon Howe sent the military to _protect us!_ "

     "Arl Howe _enslaved_ my son!" The same woman's voice rang out and the crowd parted as she elbowed her way through. "Enough of this, Lawrence! You know my George was taken by Howe's men in the dark of night and conscripted against his will! You know he died in a battle he wasn't _trained_ to fight!"

     Lawrence glared in the direction of the voice, disgust stamped on his feature. "If you'd paid your taxes, you know that would not have come to pass!" He shouted at her. "Our gold bought safety, and well we knew it! Will you hear us, Salem Cousland, vaunted _Hero of Ferelden!?_ Your deeds lie int he dust as hollow! You are _nothing_ of a hero! Men and women of Amaranthine, seize your future! Take the Keep and strike down the usurper!"

     "Lawrence, no!" The woman, determined to mediate, cried out as the man surged forward.

     I kept my hands at my sides, allowing the strike as he brought his fist against my cheek. My head snapped to the side and white light flashed behind my eyes, but I did not move. I looked back at him, tasting the blood from my split lip.

     "Guardsmen!" Garevel shouted. "To arms!"

     " _Guardsmen, stand **down!** " _I bellowed with the voice that had rung out over the roar of a dragon, fueled by my fury at Captain Garevel's disobedience. " _And one of you get me a **fucking** noose! People of Amaranthine, **Hear! Me! Now!** " _

     An unholy hush spread throughout the crowd and even Lawrence backed away, rubbing the hand that had struck me. His eyes flared and he looked from me to the scene my guardsmen were making as they removed Garevel's weapons, stripped him of his shield, and bound his hands behind his back. Captain of the Guard or not, I had not given him the position, and he had no right to override my authority.

     I stood before Lawrence, uncertain of what to say next. Noble platitudes would not sway them. Nor would words of anger and threats of punishment. _Father, give me strength,_ I begged the man who held the love of his people, the man who had been mourned throughout Highever. The man I still mourned.

     All eyes were on me as I knelt before Lawrence, placing one knee on the ground. I lowered my head to the other, outstretched knee, bowing in the position of a vassal lord to their liege. I lifted a handful of dirt from the earth and clenched it in my fist, rising and staring Lawrence directly in the eye.

     "I am sworn to this land!" I cried, my voice echoing back to me from the stone walls of the Keep. "And I am sworn to _you_ , her people! Great wrongs have been done against you, and tragedy continues to strike! Rest assured that I do not turn a blind eye! Rest assured that I _will_ do all that is within my power to protect your homes, livelihoods, and families, for without _you_ , this land, and I _myself am **nothing!**_ Please, I beseech you, return to your homes, and know that you have been heard!"

     "When will we see proof!" Lawrence demanded, though his voice had lost its former fury.

     "The proof is before you, fool!" The woman cried. "Or do you not see the guard-captain being fitted for the noose! _Listen_ to the arlessa...never did Rendon Howe accord us any import in this land! She has all but knelt before you an begged forgiveness! Whatever the rest of you may choose, I wash my hands of this!" Her eyes turned to mine, flashing with grief and sorrow and trust. Trust and belief that I would keep my word.

     She stalked through the crowd and away from the Keep, followed by more and more. They dropped their torches and stamped them out; the hands holding weapons no longer lifted them against me and their countrymen. 

     "Arlessa!" Garevel screamed at me from where he struggled against those who restrained him. "If you will bind me by your law, then bind him and punish _him_ as well! This man struck you! The penalty for physically assaulting the liege lord of Amaranthine is death!"

     Lawrence paled, beginning to shake as he realized his supporters were deserting him, and that my guards now outnumbered the members of his mob that were willing to fight. He knew that the noose waited for Garevel because of his defiance. He now feared that I would follow the law of the land. But this law was no natural law, no right law.

     _It was penned by a despicable, frightened, worthless animal! Damn you, Rendon Howe!_

     "Seal your lips!" I shouted at Garevel, brows lifted in anger. "Their spirits are worn, their livelihoods stolen. Varel, bring me Amaranthine's governing laws so that I might strike Rendon Howe's traitorous dictates from it. Men can be pushed only so far until they break, and these people are well beyond broken. Also, send a runner for Anders and have him brought here."

     The seneschal nodded and departed, calling out an order to a member of the staff before passing through the gates at a run.

     "Lawrence," I spoke, gentle, calm, "be at peace. I will not harm your person, nor imprison you for the actions you've taken this day. It is difficult to rebuild that which is broken, but I swear to you, on my father's grave, that I am trying. I am recruiting and training more men and women for the militia, but the Blight and near war have stolen from all of us. All I ask, Lawrence, is that you give me time to see my promise made reality."

     Lawrence stared at me, dumbstruck. "Y...you would...ask something of me?"

     "Yes." I nodded. "What I said before was the truth as I see it. Without its people, the land is nothing, and the lord over it even less than nothing. I will always listen to you, Lawrence, you and every citizen of Amaranthine. And, after I hear, I will do whatever I may to see to your needs."

     The sounds of approaching footsteps greeted me and Varel and Anders appeared at my side.

     "This is Anders." I gestured to the mage. "When it comes to the art of healing, he has no equal. Ser mage," I turned to the man, whose shoulders had straightened and chin lifted at my praise, "this is Lawrence. His son is gravely injured, and in need of your aid. Take one of the pages to fetch whatever you might need, accompany him, and do what you can for his son. Please."

     "Of course." Anders nodded, looking to Lawrence. "Lead the way, ser."

     Lawrence gazed at me, his eyes misting over with tears. "Arlessa, I..." He hung his head, "...I have done wrong. I should accept my punishment for striking you."

     "No." I shook my head and extended my hand. "Let us part in peace this night."

     He clasped my hand and shook it in a strong, affirming gesture. "T...thank you, milday." He murmured. "And, if I might be so bold...let this night end in peace for all of us. Please...spare the guard-captain's life. It is difficult to overcome one's beliefs. He believed I would try to kill you and I...I believed you cared for nothing but your own status. I've no right to ask, but please, offer forgiveness to him as you have me."

     I smiled as Lawrence re-affirmed my belief in the human heart. That the largesse of mortals turned to violence only when they believed they possessed no other choice, and not out of love of it.

     "Guards, return to Captain Garevel to his quarters. I want him under house arrest for the next fortnight so that he might think about what he has done, and review the laws of the land. Captain, I will expect a full report on the laws that Rendon Howe drafted that disenfranchise his people for his own gain." I turned back to Lawrence. "Forgiveness to all, this night. Rest well, Lawrence."

     He nodded, turned, and walked away, the last few stragglers of the mob following behind, whispers and untranslatable words wafting back to my ears. The former din turned to an eerie silence, and I prayed that Anders would be able to spare the life of Lawrence's son. I would go to the man's farm some time in the next few days to see how he fared.

     I sagged as the energy of conflict nearly-entered rushed out of me and Varel took me by the elbow, shoring me up. His eyes were filled with fatherly concern. "Are you all right, Salem?" He asked.

     "I am shaken." I replied. "Grateful. Worried."

     "I must admit, sentencing Garevel was a clever bluff." He said, paling when I looked him in the eye and he saw my expression.

     "I was not bluffing, Varel." I told him. "Garevel wanted an easy solution, because the man he once served under, Rendon Howe, ruled by fear. Those who rule by fear must always prove their power. I told Garevel not to act."

     "He acted in fear for your life." Varel disagreed, but not in argument. He sought to know what I perceived of the matter.

     "Varel, if the law states that if a citizen of Amaranthine shall be killed for striking the arl, what does it hold for a soldier who refuses to defend their liege lord?" The elder man's eyes widened and tightened at the corners, indicative of anger.

     "He, too, was acting in fear." Varel surmised, and I nodded. "But is that act worth sentencing him to death?"

     "Fear is often what keeps us alive." I replied. "But people often find themselves at the mercy of their fear, instead of taking the difficult steps they must to rule it. If I am able to rule my fear, Varel, I can use that fear to more quickly react to a situation and preserve life. But, without that rulership, all fear speeds is foolhardy decisions that seem right in the moment...and lead to a lifetime of regret."

     "And you believe Garevel was being ruled by his fear." Varel nodded. "I've known the man for years, and...and you are right. He feared nothing more than Rendon Howe...and he does not know you as I do. I believe that, on this night, for the first time, he has seen your capability of mercy. Howe would never have forgiven him for disobeying an order...and his sentence would have been far less kind than the noose. And speaking of things far less kind," Varel released me from his support and I found steady footing, "Bann Esmerelle and Lord Guy arrived shortly before the mob..."

     "People, Varel." I corrected him, gentle. "They are men and women like you and me...no more and no less."

     "Yes, milady." He nodded, deferential. "In any case, they are waiting for you in the main hall. Apparently each of them were visited by a similar scene, and to hear them tell it, a peaceful resolution was not had."

     "Maker's blood-soaked breath." I cursed, trudging towards the Keep. "I want peace, Varel, not a gods-damned massacre."

     "I know, Salem." He sounded so concerned, so fatherly, and my heart cracked as I missed what I could no longer have.

     _Much like everything that was good in my life...it is not allowed to exist. Maker, if you have heard **none** of my prayers, I beg that you hear me now. Let me return to Leliana. Let me make good on my word, to her and to my people. That is all I ask. _


	14. Kathyra's Tale and Wisdom

**Leliana**

     I paced the four walls of the room like a caged animal, clenching and unclenching my hands, flexing muscles that screamed with lack of use. Candlemarks had passed, and still there was no sign of Salem. No word. No knowledge of where she might be or what might have happened to her. I was beleaguered, worried, and beginning to grow angry. 

     _How dare she!?_ I asked myself, tightening my jaw, restraining a voiceless scream of frustration. _How dare she walk away from me, wearing that **gods-damned mask!?** We were so close to some sort of resolution, a degree of understanding as much a poison as a cure. Still..._

     "Why have you denied us peace?" I looked through the window to the smiling moon in the ink-black sky. "Why have you thrust upon her torment after torment, and upon me your silence as you condemn me to this...this...test? You _know_ Salem! She would _stand and do **nothing**_ to influence my decision! Just as she did nothing after Fort Drakon, when she _looked into my soul and offered me **nothing!**_ Nothing, so that I would see my own heart! Nothing, so that I could see my way clear! Nothing, so that my words and truths were my own! Why do you not see that? Why do you not honor it!?"

     I quieted as my own words returned to me in an echo. My brow creased as I looked into the moon's leering grin. It offered me no answers, and I so desperately wanted answers. I needed them. I needed them for the time to choose was growing nearer, but I was no closer to my choice.

     "Is this why you are now silent?" I questioned the Maker. "A dream in which you offered me nothing...nothing, so that I..."

     _Andraste failed. Was there ever a time when the Maker did not answer even her **Bride's** pleas for enlightenment? Oh, Salem...how tortured are the heroes of the tales? Is it possible that, when they existed, they were as you and I, simple and human and struggling for understanding in a world bent on confounding every thought and hope and dream? _

     "Did Andraste ever scream to a silent sky?" I asked the silence of my room. "Did she ever beg you for guidance and find you silent, my Maker? Were there...were there any who paid for her freedom in blood?"

     "I thought that my question might have tormented you without necessity." A quiet voice came from the door and I turned in a blur of movement.

    "Kathyra?" I asked, striding towards the door, moving my arm around the physician's waist to support her. "What on earth are you doing up and about? You should still be resting."

     She smiled, with none of Marjolaine's acidity or machinations. "I am savoring the Maker's gift of healing magic, and Mistress Wynne's talented hands." She said, soft. "Already I feel stronger...and I have been beside myself, thinking of when we last spoke. I...I wronged you in the asking of that question, Leliana. Please, allow me to explain."

     I guided her to the edge of the bed and helped her sit, heartened that she did so with little signs of discomfort.

     _How can mages be cursed, when theirs is the gift of healing?_ I wondered, not for the first time.

     It had been Salem who changed my thoughts and beliefs of magic. During my time in the Lothering Chantry, I had adopted many of their unfortunate beliefs, including an inherent mistrust of those who possessed magical power. But Salem, in her love, her nobility, her wisdom that transcended her years, had opened my eyes to the true curse of the mages...and that it was the ignorance and fear of those who did not possess their gifts.

     "There is no need to explain." I told the physician, standing back and examining her beneath the moon's light, glad to see the tinge of color in cheeks too long pale. "You have given me much to consider, and I am grateful for it."

     "You...you did not understand my intent." Kathyra shook her head, adamant. "And I was not coherent enough at the time to give voice to it. I am now, and I ask that you listen. I did not provide proper context, and now...now I must."

     "As you say." I sat beside her, willing away the furor in my mind, opening my heart and ears to her explanation.

     "I am afraid it requires further telling of my own story." Kathyra grimaced, looking back on times that must have been torturous. "I told you of...of Marjolaine's reaction to my newfound liberty. That she attempted to take my life and left me for dead. I told you of waking in the Chantry under the care of a physician...and I chose to adopt that same path. I did not tell you of what came after...and there was much that came after."

     I could see the pain in her green eyes, their gold flecks standing out like the small moments of happiness that she had been allotted amidst a sea of anguish and suffering.

     "You need not, Kathyra." I assured her. "Not if, in the telling, you will be hurt."

     She smiled again, though the movement seemed strained. "You have to understand, Leliana. Please. Let me tell you."

     "Very well." I shook my head, thinking of the similarities between the physician and my warden.

     _They both strive to tell me the truth, and nothing other, without thought of the consequences or regard for their own pain._

     "My life was saved by a Sister Giselle." Kathyra faded into the darkness of her memories. "She passed through the alley where Marjolaine struck me down, by what might have been pure happenstance, if I did not believe in divine intervention. Giselle mended my wounds, and, when it became clear to me that I had nowhere to go, and nothing but ignoble talents to fall back on, I begged her to apprentice me, and she did so without second thought. I spent three years at her side, turning my hands from a murderer's to a healer's, giving shelter and succor to the sick instead of extorting them...learning to treat all men as equals...though it would seem, by your standard, I still have much to learn."

     "Kathyra, I..."

     "No, Leliana. A day without new knowledge is a day discarded." She sighed and continued her story. "Giselle did more than take me under her wing. She took me beneath her roof, offering me a home, and a family. I worked in the Chantry clinic...but Giselle was half-elven, and often abused. Through the years we were together, I fell in love...I broke her away from the Chantry clinic, and we started our own. We were happy. We were blessed...until one night. Giselle was away and a man...a man came into the clinic, bleeding from a sword to the gut. I felt as if I knew him, but I could not deny him treatment, no matter how ill-at-ease I was with his presence. I disinfected his wound and stitched his skin, all the while feeling a nagging thought at the back of my mind that I _knew_ him from somewhere."

     Kathyra rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands. I did not need to see her eyes to know that tears streamed from them. Words froze in my throat and died, unable to speak in the face of what, for her, seemed to be a more painful experience than Leron's magical torments and Marjolaine's betrayal. I remembered all that I had lost, and my heart bled for Kathyra, realizing that she must have known such a loss, as well.

     "Giselle had glorious golden hair." Kathyra recalled, voice soft. "And green eyes, much like Private Kestrel's. As canny as they were kind. She was...truly beautiful, Leliana, and I know now as I did not know then that I loved her more than I have loved any one or anything. Two days after the man's visit, a knock rang at our door. Because of the enemies we had amassed on all sides, Giselle begged me to hide and told me to remain there, no matter what. I...I watched through a knot in the wood as she opened the door. All I witnessed was the slash of a blade across her throat." Kathyra shuddered in revulsion. "Giselle crumpled to the ground and the door slammed shut. I...I ran to her and I...I cradled her head in my lap...and her eyes were _smiling_ , Leliana, even in death."

     I remembered Salem's death at Marjolaine's hands, the look of serenity stamped on her features, the slight upward quirk of her lips as she slipped into peace eternal.

     "Like a woman possessed, I hunted her killers." Kathyra's words sounded dead. "Only to find that the man I had treated two night's prior to the murder was a rival bardmaster. Marjolaine built her empire on her murder of Leron...and built the fear of her on her murder of me. Her rival was only too pleased to tell her that I still lived. She sent men to have me killed and gave them a physical description...golden hair and green eyes. Giselle perished simply for her resemblance to me...it was then that I realized a grievous, horrible truth."

     My own throat felt choked by tears as I grieved for Kathyra, a woman who had lost so much, and at the same hand which had caused me untold torment. We suffered the same hell. We bled for the same love...the love of a woman who did not know the emotion at all...save in how to use its mimicry to enslave another.

     "What...what was that truth, Kathyra?"

     "Wherever there is slaver, wherever there are chains," Kathyra looked at me, piercing me with eyes nearly identical to her sister's, "when they are broken, blood is the price. Giselle paid for my freedom with her blood, for Marjolaine believed me dead, and sought me no further. For months, I sought Giselle's killer, at last locating her only to realize that...by killing my sister, the freedom that my lover sought for me would be ended...that I would become again, falsely, for Giselle's sake, what she had liberated me from. Instead, I...I left that murder behind. I sought to honor my lover in the only manner I knew. I swore my vows to the Chantry, and became the woman who now stands before you. But you paid the price, Leliana. You paid the price for my inability to take revenge."

     "I do not care about that." I wrapped my arms around the healer, who had become a friend, a confidant...someone who _understood_. "What is past is past. There is no undoing it."

     "You are a kind woman. But this leads to the matter of...of my question." Kathyra forged onward, determined to make herself clear.

     "The answer is yes." I breathed, sobered and sorrowed by the truth of it. "Yes, Kathyra. Salem has paid for my freedom...and continues to do so. In her blood. But I cannot repay..."

     Kathyra shook her head, stopping my words. "It is not about repayment." She reached out and took my hands in her own. "Repayment, equal measure for equal measure...it would only end in more blood. It is about the _gift_ , Leliana. Giselle paid for her life with my own, and, in turn, I _gave_ myself to the life and calling she desired. For her sake."

     _The gift._

     I let her words sink in, but I understood her meaning at last as I looked into her eyes, seeing a truth there. A truth that it had taken her years of pain to learn, and yet more pain to relay to me.

     "You think I should..."

     "Stay." Kathyra squeezed the hand she held. "The Chantry will not be easily toppled, Leliana. There will be time beyond time to effect its change...but your warden will not live forever. Surely...your freedom is worth such a small sacrifice."

     "Why?" I questioned, uncertain of the physician's motivations. "Why would you, who have seen the grievous errors made by the Chantry, turn away the first you have met who would attempt to right them?"

     "Because, if I had it to do over again," Kathyra whispered, "I would take the blow Giselle took in my stead. I had known joy, and I had known love, and I had known freedom...instead, I am in the world. Giselle is not, and it is poorer for her absence. It will be much the same when Salem leaves this world, and I would not see my only friend burdened with the same regrets I know. Please, Leliana. It is your gift to give, and none other can decide for you, but I ask...as one like you...one whose chains were unbreakable...save by another's freely offered blood."

     I sat in silence, looking once more to the moon. Kathyra rose and patted my shoulder, a silent gesture of thanks and understanding. She stepped forward and wavered and I reached out, taking her arm for support.

     "Are you..."

     "I am fine." She assured me, smiling and leaving as quietly as she arrived.

     Once more, I was alone with my thoughts, made more tumultuous by Kathyra's unexpected revelations.

     _How could I not have seen this?_ I wondered. _Unwilling? Unable? How did I not see that it is not my freedom alone that Salem has bought with her blood...but...all of ours? She bought Alistair's freedom from his fear, Morrigan's freedom from her mother, Wynne's freedom from her guilt, Zevran's freedom from the Crows, Oghren's freedom from Branka, Shale's from her control rod, Sten's freedom from his failure...and...and only two have willingly given of themselves for **her.** Alistair, Morrigan...and their child. Their gift of life to Salem, but I...I who **love** her...why am I so..._

_...why am I so torn?_


	15. The Price of Mercy

**Salem**

     I entered the main hall of Vigil's Keep, looking from side to side, on my guard when I found it empty; the usual guards not there. With the crowd outside, their absence made sense, but my instincts were crying out in warning, and I had learned to heed them. The sole occupants of the room were the two figures standing before the fire pit in the center of the hall. A familiar scent tickled the edges of my awareness, dark and burnished, rich and sensual. 

     _I know this aroma from...somewhere._ I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting back my exhaustion. _Why will my mind not properly function?_

     Bann Esmerelle turned, faced me, and immediately set her chin at a haughty angle, her dry brown eyes looking down the length of her shrewish nose. I had sensed malice in her when she swore her oath of fealty, but Varel counseled me that Esmerelle was too powerful to be unseated...and held the loyalty of too many of Amaranthine's knights.

     _She is rumored to have supported Rendon Howe, but I have witnessed no evidence to prove these rumors, and I will not judge on suspicion or hearsay._

     Lord Guy accompanied the most powerful bann in Amaranthine. The unctuous, obsequious man had left little impression on me, other than dislike. His skin was too pale, too soft, and his nose bore the ruddy sheen of a man who spent too much of his gold savoring fine wines and rich foods...while his people starved. I raised an eyebrow as I noticed the scraggly, patchy beard he grew in an attempt to cover his weak chin.

     "Bann Esmerelle. Lord Guy." I nodded at them in greeting. "I am sorry that such disquiet has brought you here this night. What might I do for you?"

     "You might have mitigated this problem from the start." Guy spoke, his double chin waggling, his high, nasal voice grating against my ears. "By leaving in place our former arl's, Maker rest his soul, instructions and edicts. You have cut in half our protective forces by freeing those men and women from their contracts..."

     "Before you continue," I lifted a hand, silencing him, "you will win little favor with me by..."

     "Questioning your orders?" Esmerelle asked, disdain evident in her tone.

     "Did I address _you_?" I asked, refraining from looking in her direction. "I will thank you from abstaining from interrupting me. As I was saying, Lord Guy, you will win little favor by supporting a man who believed in enslaving the people of a free nation."

     "I do not want _favor_." Guy snarled. "I desire an arlessa who will pull her head from her backside and _realize_ the gravity of the situation. Esmerelle and I were attacked in our _homes_. Our guards could scarcely withstand the onslaught!"

     "And?" I raised my brow, glowering at the both of them, tormenting them with the scars inside my eyes. "Did I not face the same hazard? No onslaught ensued. No blood was spilled. Tell me, Esmerelle, Guy," I looked to each of them in turn, antagonizing them by purposefully foregoing their titles, hoping to draw from them the true intent of their presence here, "did you even go out to your people? Did you speak to them, hear their grievances...or did you simply send your guards and their captains to roust them with blades?"

     Esmerelle's face became an impassive mask, but Guy had never learned to conceal his emotions or opinions. His piggish face flushed at the harshness of my tone; he stammered and took a step backwards, his eyes flaring back and forth as he searched his mind for justification.

     "To venture among the rabble is suicide." Esmerelle sniffed. "They need a strong hand to guide them; a clear-minded, uncompromising leader. If we listened to ever grievance, what time would we have to govern?"

     Disgust for the woman filled me and I glared at her. "If you listened to even _one_ grievance, you might not have been visited by a mob." I countered, harsh. "People are _driven_ to violence, Esmerelle. Most of them do not adopt it as a lifestyle until they feel the have _no other choice!_ "

     Both of them stepped backwards and I followed, further from the fire pit. The dark, rich scent that taunted me earlier returned in full force, slapping me across the face. The hair on the back of my neck rose as I realized from whence I knew it.

     _It is the same scent that Zevran bore. Rivaini steel and Antivan leather. What in **hell?**_

     "There are always multiple choices, arlessa." Guy smiled, all oil and spite. "Even for those with title and noble blood. Rendon Howe had a manner of dealing with intractable nobles, Lady Cousland. Like a cancer...he would _cut_ them from the body of the whole. Amaranthine has no need of you. We were fine as we were."

     I drew further back, pulling my swords from their sheathes as four strangers, wearing Antivan leather, emerged from the shadows. Esmerelle turned to Guy, shock stamped on her rodentine features, confusing me yet further.

     "Guy?" She asked, looking from me to the four armed strangers. "What is the meaning of this?"

     _What? Is she **not** part of this plot...and this is obviously a plot. Maker's breath, what a damned mess. _

     "Esmerelle, you..." The lord stammered as I sized up my enemies, who wielded the wicked daggers akin to the ones Zevran favored.

     "I do not condone assassination!" Esmerelle exclaimed, dodging back as Guy swiped at her with a short sword.

     His willingness to enact his scheme and dirt his own hands surprised me. It stunned me further when Esmerelle pulled a knife from her belt and faced off against the noble. I had no doubts as to who would win that contest...there was more of Guy to strike with a blade...but I had my own enemies to confront. I readied my blades, gazing into the faces of the Antivan Crows for the second time in my life.

     _Once more than most._ I thought, grim.

     As with Zevran, I knew that the instant I took the defensive, I was dead. I launched myself at the nearest Crow, sweeping my right hand blade in an arc, catching an attack to my side with the left. The Crow dodged my blade and pain shivered down my leg as a small, bladed disc embedded itself in my left thigh. I cursed, realizing that my swords and their length were working against me.

     Zevran's skills had been unmatched, and keeping him at a distance had only ever allowed him to whittle my strength down bit by bit. Facing four men with that same training would be nearly impossible to survive.

     _But survive I **must**_. _I made a promise. To the woman I love. I. Will. Not. Lose._

     One of them charged me and I dropped my offhand blade to the floor, catching the Crow by his jerkin and thrusting him face first into the scorching coals of the brazier, wincing when another thrown blade struck my back, between my shoulders. I hissed at the feeling of cold steel in warm flesh as the smell of charred flesh clouded the air. I heard footsteps and turned, slashing out with my sword as another Crow lifted his dagger to stab me. My blade caught under his arm and I thrust upward, severing the artery and whipping my blade out, knowing he would bleed out in mere moments.

     Another razor disc flew through the air, finding its place in my upper right arm. I cursed and turned my back to the roaring fire, trusting it to protect me as I faced the other two Crows, feeling naked without my offhand blade. Blood soaked into my clothes and slipped down my skin from the three projectile weapons they'd thrown. Any other place, any other enemy, and I might have attempted to talk to them, to reason with them, but that would do me no good. The Crows knew loyalty to nothing but gold, and Guy had paid them.

     _And how many children will go hungry because of the told it took to pay these bastards to end my life?_ I wondered.

     White hot fury filled me and the heat from the fire scorched through the clothing I wore. Both of the Crows charged me and I stepped to the side as one's blade whispered through my hair. I wrapped my arm around his neck and pinned him against me, pivoting on my feet in time for his compatriot's blade to plunge into his back. I shoved the bod forward, knocking my last assailant off balance and finishing him with my blade across his throat, wincing as the movement worked the blades embedded into my body even deeper.

     He fell and I stood there, panting, dropping my sword as the muscles in my right arm spasmed after being cut afresh, for the fifth time since the beginning of the Blight. I cursed and clutched at my arm, willing the tremors to cease, but refusing to pull out the razor disc. It was too deep; it would bleed too much. I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw puddles of blood forming on the floor around the bodies of the lifeless Crows. They were well and truly dead; no longer a threat.

     I turned at the noise of another body falling and witnessed Esmerelle as she pulled her gore-drenched knife from Lord Guy's heart. The plump noble collapsed to the ground with a squeaking rasp and I nodded to the older woman.

     "Thank you, Esmerelle." I whispered, grateful for her defense of me, though we had disagreed not moments before.

     "He was a foolish whelp." Esmerelle shook her head as I limped towards her. "Holding a noble title is to be embroiled in a great game of chess. It is up to the noble to decide what piece they are, and Guy was never possessed of great foresight. He was too stupid to understand that pawns like him are _always_ expendable."

     Esmerelle stepped away from the body and stumbled. I went to her aid, catching her elbow and helping her regain her footing, locking our eyes together.

     "Are you all right?" I asked.

     "Quite well." She smiled, and fresh pain speared through me.

     My lips parted in shock and my legs began shaking as I looked down, seeing Esmerelle's blood-soaked hand...gripping her knife...which she'd buried to it hilt in my gut. I tried to speak, to cry out, but no words emerged as Esmerelle rose to her full height.

     "Pawns are expendable." She repeated. "But queens, you see, are only taken my treachery." She leered down at me. "And with you out of the way, Cousland, Amaranthine will return to the peace it knew under Rendon Howe."

     She twisted the blade and my knees buckled as a hoarse scream shredded out of my throat. I staggered against the wall of the fire pit, struggling to breathe through the pain, to regain my composure and control. I reached for the knife I carried in my belt, but my right hand would not function; my fingers would not close. Esmerelle seized my left wrist, holding it still, pulling my blade from its sheath and casting it away.

     Esmerelle smiled. "Salem Cousland, the woman who slayed a god." She taunted me. "That legend ends tonight, in a pool of blood, with a god slayer brought low by a mortal woman. It seems you are nothing more than mortal, after all."

     With a twist of her hand, she wrenched her blade out of my body and I shrieked, falling to my knees as blood spilled out onto the ground. The knife dropped to the floor with a clatter and I collapsed beside it, pushing myself against the wall of the fire pit, driving the slim blade between my shoulders deeper, as Esmerelle sauntered away, needing no proof of my death, confident in her victory. The door of the hall slammed, sounding like a funeral bell.

     I pressed my hands against the wound to my belly, but could not apply pressure. My right hand refused to cease tremoring and I had no strength left. I fought to breathe past the pain, to gather enough breath to...

     "V...Va... _Varel_!" I cried out, listening to my voice echo across the stone. " _ **Varel!**_ "

     _Let him hear._ I prayed with flickering thoughts. _Dear Maker, let him hear._

     The sound of running feet met my ears and I forced my eyes to remain open as Varel knelt beside me, his eyes wide with worry. I could see the fear in them and knew that it was bad. I could no longer feel my legs, and the entire lower half of my shirt was scarlet.

     "Salem, what happened?" He gasped, removing my blood-slick hands and replacing them with his own. I knew that it should hurt, but I could not feel it.

     "Es...Esmerelle." I gasped.

     "Maker above. You sent the healer mage away...and Woolsey is gadding about, auditing the arling, damn her hide." Horror filled his gaze as he realized we had no healers nearby. "Try to stay awake, Salem. I will take you to Amaranthine, to the Chantry, where there are healers."

     _I...I'm bleeding too much._ My fractured thoughts managed to sear together. _I will not survive the journey._

     I cast about with my left hand, finding the slick-sticky grip of Esmerelle's blade. My eyelids fluttered and I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to remain awake. I lifted the blade and handed it to Varel, whose eyes flared with panic.

     "Put it...back in." My words slurred. "Stop...bleeding."

     "No, my lady." He refused, casting the knife aside. "This will have to suffice."

     He pulled his scarf from around his neck, lifted my shirt, and gazed at me with pure apology. His hands lifted my shirt and he paled as he saw the extent of the injury. I watched the muscle in his jaw clench as he shoved the scarf into the wound, packing it tightly in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The fact that I did not feel it terrified me, and I could see the anxiety in Varel as well.

     "There is a wagon outside." Varel told me. "Just hold still."

     He fitted one arm beneath the bend of my knees and prepared to lace his other around my back. I coughed and struggled to inhale.

     "Throwing knife...in my back..." I murmured.

     "Bloody hell." Varel whispered. "I will avoid it."

     His arm fitted around my back and he lifted me. I sagged against his chest, wondering why I felt nothing below my waist. My muscles of my right arm continued to flutter and the knife in my back pushed deeper as Varel carried me to the wagon outside. I groaned as he set me in the back and pulled a rough woolen blanket that smelled of wheat and horses over me.

     "Keep strong and lie still as you can." He cautioned me, and though I heard his words, I did not comprehend them. I felt myself slipping away. "Amaranthine is not far."

     _Amaranthine_ , my eyes rolled backwards and my body shuddered. _Yes. I have to...see Leliana. I have...have to say...have to say farewell._


	16. Fear on Cold Display

**Leliana**

     The night had been restless. Sleep took me shortly after Kathyra departed, but it was troubled by fractured dreams, images and sounds with no definition or source. I felt unrested, tempest-tossed, and in need of something solid, something true. My wife was nowhere to be found, and I worried for her as I sought out my friends. I entered the infirmary shortly after sunrise, attempting to conceal my anxiety from the three women who greeted me. Kathyra saw through the mask I attempted to wear, and her brow lifted in question, but she said nothing, instead returning to and paying careful attention to her breakfast.

     "Is everything all right, Leliana?" Rylie, the most vocal of the three, piped up.

     "I..." I ran out of reasons and the need to wear my mask. These three stood beside me through the horrific journey from Val Royeaux that brought us here. They had seen me weak, wounded, and afraid. "No." I replied. "No, it is not all right. Salem was called away last night to Vigil's Keep in order to mediate a riot. She has not returned, and there is no word from her. Were she planning to stay, she would have sent a message...it is not like her to keep me in the dark."

     Kestrel's face darkened and her vivid green eyes flitted to Rylie's with an expression that spoke volumes that the written word could never convey. The mage-templar knew the intimate horror of facing a situation in which the one person held above all others was placed in mortal peril from which they might not recover. However, she banished the look from her gaze before Rylie could see it, and turned her face to mine.

     "I am certain Salem is well." Kestrel spoke in her quiet, unobtrusive manner.

     I bit my lip, torn between trusting the words of my friend or believing the gnawing ache in my spirit that screamed foreboding. My instincts were thrumming on edge, my spirit felt raw, and it was not simply from the restless night.

     "Leliana, sit down." Kathyra patted the edge of her cot. "You are obviously troubled. That need not be the case among friends."

     I shook my head. "You and Rylie are still recovering." I murmured. "I do not wish to hinder that with trivial fears."

     "That's a shite excuse if ever I've heard it." Rylie scoffed, but the good nature of her tone warmed me. "Between the sisters and the mage, we're healing fine. Nothing bed rest and good food can't mend."

     "Oh, the resilience of the young." Kathyra chuckled, but her smile, echoed by Kestrel and Rylie, encouraged me and comforted me enough that I sat beside the physician.

     I ran my hand through my hair, a gesture repeated too often through the night spent alternately struggling to sleep, tossing and turning, and pacing the room. I knew the vagaries of nobles. I knew their closeted conspiracies, the backbiting and the plotting, the inevitability of such plots coming to fruition...for good or ill. And my Salem...she could face demons, angels, and gods in battle, ever emerging victorious. But such things were honest enemies. Against dishonesty, against treachery...she was as fallible as any.

     "There is a plot amidst the banns and lords here, who profited from the former arl's corruption, to murder Salem and put one of their own back in power." I breathed, sharing my troubles, easing my burdens, a gift that Salem had not been given during our separation. "And my wife is...she is not naive, but...but she is guileless, in her way. I am concerned."

     "The woman who was laid to rest yesterday." Kestrel spoke up, shocking me with her keen observations. "Did this have anything to do with this conspiracy?"

     "How did you know?" I asked, worried that word might have spread too far...if it had reached Kestrel, how many more sympathizers had been drawn to the conspirator's cause?

     "I assume that most nobility do not prepare a body for the funeral pyre with their own hands." Kestrel replied. "The lay sisters were whispering of it to one another."

     "Thank the Maker that is all they know." I breathed. "Yes." I answered. "The woman's name was Tamra. She was a knight of Amaranthine, and the one who discovered the plot. She was killed when she tried to interrupt a meeting of the conspirators. They have shed the blood of a titled woman already. Killing an arlessa, especially if their actions are masked by what would seem to be a mob of commoners..." I trailed off as I shivered with anxiety.

     _I should have gone with her._ I hurled recriminations at myself. _Never mind her protests and reasons against my accompanying her. Damn it. **I. Should. Have. Gone.**_

     "Leliana, everything is _fine_." Rylie stressed the words, tossing me another beaming smile. "Your wife is a warrior of unmatched skill. The Hero of Ferelden! Darkspawn tremble at her name, demons flee, and you're worried about lesser lords and ladies who've never lifted anything heavier than a needle? Anyone who could kill a dragon without their eyesight could surely..."

     "Rylie, enough." Kathyra silenced the younger woman. "Anyone, no matter their skill, can fall prey to the machinations of wicked men." The physician reminded the younger women, sobering them.

     Her green eyes lifted to mine and she extended her hand. Her grasp was warm and firm, far and away from the edge of death she'd hovered on not so long ago. I whispered a silent prayer of thanks, happy that she was recovering so quickly. Still, I could see the telltale signs of the infirm in the physician's body. Her skin still held a sickly pallor, there were dark circles beneath her eyes; she held herself on the cot with great care, avoiding placing any undue pressure on her wound. I frowned as I saw two small, fresh blood-stains on the bandages wrapped around her torso. As I thought yesternight, she should not be up and about yet.

     "We are all but mortal." Kestrel spoke barely above a whisper, drawing me from my examination of Kathyra. "All with our flaws, our secrets, our weaknesses. Inasmuch as we would like to believe that we can rise above that norm, at the end of the day, we are but flesh and blood, and able to be broken."

     "So maudlin, Kes!" Rylie reprimanded, batting the taller woman on the shoulder, wincing as she pulled at her all-but-fresh injury. "The woman who saved my life is nearly tearing her hair out with worry and you and the lieutenant are droning on about falling prey and mortality and blood and death and...and it is too gruesome a thing to countenance. Both of you, trust in Salem, and if you cannot do that, trust in the _Maker_."

     Kestrel took Rylie's hands and drew the young woman's snapping onyx eyes to her own. My heart soared as I saw the unspoken love between them, burning fierce and bright. I could only imagine the light to come, at the precious moment when their hearts would demand them to speak.

     "The Maker nearly saw fit to take you from me and this world, sweet girl." Kestrel's voice cracked. "Forgive me if I am slightly opposed to believing in divine intervention and providence."

     _Where is your faith now, Leliana?_ I wondered, considering Kestrel's words and how close they were to my own thoughts. _Where is the faith that woke a silent god, that turned a warden from her path of self-destruction and, in her own words, brought her back from death itself?_

     Rylie's lips parted, but no words came forth as she saw the fervency in the eyes she gazed into, the obvious emotion locked inside a woman who was not demonstrative, but whose love was more evidenced in actions, expressions, and gestures. Again, the similarities between Salem and Kestrel struck me, and I yearned for my warden. I was desperate with the need to touch her, to hear her voice, to beg for her aid in making my choice.

     "I am certain all will be well." I mediated the thickening silence, looking from Kathyra to Kestrel to Rylie. "I am perhaps prone to worry...life has instructed me to anticipate the worst."

     As if on some macabre cue, a man rushed into the room. His weathered face was pale and drawn, his grey hair windblown and in disarray, his blue eyes frantic and frenzied.

     "I need aid!" He shouted, and several of the Chantry sisters turned towards him. Kestrel and I rose to our feet; Kathyra and Rylie, being women of action, tensed, but knew better than to try to move in their conditions. "Please!" The man shouted. "The arlessa has been injured! _She needs a healer!_ "

     I froze in shock and horror as his words met my ears and twisted my heart into a tangle of madness and fear. My mind brought forth every grievous injury I had seen Salem endure. The smell of blood burned in my breath and my throat constricted in pure, unadulterated panic.

     _Salem!_

     My pulse raced, my heart threatened to beat out of my chest, and I ran to the man, parting the sisters and brothers who had gathered near. "I am Leliana Cousland." I spoke, thrusting my wedding ring into his sight as proof of my identity. "Where is my wife?"

     "Outside." He spoke through heavy, labored breaths. "There are no healers at the Keep...I brought her here in a wagon, but her injuries are so severe...I dare not carry her here alone."

     _Oh, Maker._ Bile rose in my throat and my stomach churned. I turned to one of the lay brothers.

     "Fetch a litter and bring it outside." I looked to the back of the room, pleading. "Kestrel, where is..."

     The young woman was already running up to me. "Mistress Wynne was called to a conference at sunrise." She informed me and I cursed.

     "Help me, please." I begged, and she nodded.

     We raced out of the Chantry and I nearly fell down the stairs in my haste to reach the wagon that stood outside on the street. The horses were lathered and fidgeting, alarmed by the scent of blood that hung heavy in the air. I could hear my blood roaring in my ears as I grasped the side of the wagon and jumped, swinging myself over the boards and into the back, my boots sliding in the soft hay. I slid to my knees beside my wife, devastated, pulling away the rough blanket that covered her.

     _My love..._ She rested on her side, her limbs askew, her body seeming crumpled in on itself. The straw she rested on was stained red beneath her right upper arm. I saw the hilt of a throwing knife protruding from between her shoulders, and the razor edge of a throwing star embedded in her left thigh. Her clothes were stained with blood, but not enough to warrant her current condition.

     She was white as bleached bone, with black circles beneath her eyes. Her lips were pale, her breathing scratchy, labored, and erratic. I pressed my fingers to the pulse point at her neck, terrified when I felt the weak, racing, thready beat beneath her skin.

     The wagon jolted as Kestrel joined me inside it, her lips parting when she saw Salem. I pulled a knife from my wrist sheath and cut a large swath from the blanket. I held it out to Kestrel, who took it and moved to Salem's back, as if on instinct.

     "Something isn't right." I breathed, fighting to keep my composure. "The wounds and blood I can see do not explain this. I have to check for further injuries." I grasped the slender hilt of the knife protruding from her back. "When I remove this, press the cloth there and help me turn her...carefully."

     "Of course." Kestrel nodded.

     I breathed deep, struggling to keep my hands from shaking. I could not explain my fear. I had witnessed my wife gravely injured before. I had nursed her back from the threshold of death many times. But something within my soul screamed that this time, _this_ moment, was defining and different. I dreaded the reason why, but I did not have time to ponder it.

     "Now." I ordered, pulling the blade from Salem's back in as smooth a movement as I could muster.

     She whimpered and flinched as Kestrel pressed the cloth to the wound. I grew more afraid when blood only oozed from the puncture. There should have been more...she should have been bleeding _more_.

     "Turn her." I managed to rasp.

     Kestrel made certain the cloth remained against the wound as we rolled Salem onto her back. Blood drained from my face and my body went numb and cold. Her shirt was drenched in crimson and a scarlet scarf had been...had been...

     _Not used as a bandage. It is...Maker's breath...it is **inside** the wound. This is...this is only done when...when the puncture is deep...Andraste help us..._ I saw the fringe of the scarf... _it is not red cloth. All of this is...it's her blood..._

     "Leliana." Kestrel snapped, and I returned to the cruelest of realities. "Leliana, the brothers are here with a litter. We must get her inside."

     "Can't..." My voice cracked. "We can't...can't move her like this. It's too dangerous..."

     "Leliana." The mage-templar reached out and grasped my chin, turning my gaze to hers, into vivid green eyes that were impossibly calm, steady, and collected. "You helped save the love of my life." She said. "I want to do the same for you. It is dangerous to move her, yes, but she cannot very well be treated in a filthy wagon out in the elements. You know this as well as I."

     I nodded, mute, numb, almost paralyzed by fear. I clung to Salem's left hand, stroking the metal of her ring with my thumb, barely hearing Kestrel's orders. I did not realize the litter had been placed in the wagon until Kestrel rested her hand on my upper arm and squeezed.

     "Help me lift her." She told me and I nodded, clawing at my psyche, forcing myself to act, to _help_. There would be time for panic later...at least...I hoped there would be.

     Kestrel hooked her hands under Salem's armpits and I grasped my wife's legs. On a count of three, we lifted her onto the litter. I held my breath as I saw the fingers of her right hand splay and spasm...but nothing more moved. My gut twisted as I saw another throwing star, stuck in the flesh of her right arm. I remembered...in Howe's dungeon, Salem took a blow from his razor sword there. Shortly after that was healed, Loghain sliced it open again in their duel at the Landsmeet...

     _Wynne was forced to use magic to mend the muscle. She told me that if she refrained from a speedy healing, the muscles were so damaged that Salem might lose use of the arm. That blade in her arm is...is in the center of that old scar._

     "Carefully!" I heard Kestrel snap at the lay brother who bore the other end of the litter. "Any undue jostling might rip open what her body is trying to heal! Be gentle!"

     "Yes, milady." The lay brother stammered.

     In horrified stillness, I watched Kestrel and the man move the litter. The man supported the weight of it as Kestrel jumped to the ground, then the templar took up her share of the burden again. I followed them, taking Salem's right hand, feeling her muscles twitch and flutter beneath her skin. It terrified me, but it was proof of life.

     They bore her inside the Chantry, where a sister directed us to a room filled with the scent of herbs and a raised stone table. My gut twisted and nausea swelled as I recognized the layout of the room I had found Salem in yesternight, preparing the dead knight for the pyre. In my rational mind, I knew that the room for the preparation of the dead and this room for healing were different, but my fearful mind focused solely on their similarities.

     _I cannot lose her...not like this...not when there are so many things unresolved. Maker, what is this!? What manner of trial, what manner of **test is **this!? What do you **want** from me? Whatever it is you wish I will **do** , but **please** , I **beg** you...do not let her die! _

     I dropped to my knees as they lowered the litter, still clinging to my wife's hand. Kestrel and the brother grasped her again and lifted her onto the table. I rose with them, gasping when a pitiful groan broke through Salem's lips, and her eyelids fluttered.

     "Salem?" I called her name, clutching her hand, drawing close to her, pressing my forehead to her cool, clammy skin, stroking the vivid scar on her cheek with my fingers. "Salem, darling, are you awake?"

     Her eyelids fluttered again, but this time her eyes remained open. Her capacity to withstand pain always amazed me, from the first time I saw her hurt to this very moment. I bit my lip. It seemed that the blue had washed out of her eyes, leaving them a dull, stormcloud grey. Her pallid lips quirked in the half-smile she always managed when injured. A small miracle that was mine alone.

     "'M 'wake." She mumbled, a sliver of air against my cheek.

     _We need to know what happened,_ I struggle to remain rational. _If she is hurt anywhere else. If any of the blades carried poison. If any...any bones are broken._

     "You're very hurt, my love." I breathed, stroking stray tresses of hair away from her face. "Do you remember?"

     "Yes." Her whisper slurred. "Es'm'relle."

     _I will slit that bitch's **throat**. _

     "Salem..." My voice failed me and my tears dripped onto her cheek.

     "Lelia..." My name ended in an anguished gasp as her body shuddered. "Can't feel...m' legs. 'M...cold."

     "All right." My words emerged on a sob. "Just go to sleep, my love. You'll be warm when you wake."

     Her lips quirked in the half-smile again and, somehow, she lifted a hand to my cheek. "If...I don't." She fought for a breath. "I...love you...dear heart."

     Salem's eyes slipped closed and my body shook, fighting back the sobs that threatened to tear me apart. I loved her so much, but I could not find the strength to speak. She had drifted away, somewhere I could not find her, and this time...I had gone so far away from her...I did not know if she could find her way back to me.

     _She abandoned heaven...for you._ My thoughts accused me, harsh and bladed. _You cannot even make a simple choice. To stay or to go. Now, that choice is being made for you._

     "Someone, _please_." The plea shredded out of my throat. "Someone _please **help** _ her!"

     "Mistress Wynne is not here, but the Chantry has physicians." Kestrel's hand was on my shoulder again, the young woman providing a rock in a tempestuous sea. "Bring one here, immediately."

     I turned to see a frightened sister standing in the doorway of the room. I watched as she paled at Kestrel's words. "With the events of last night...the mobs...the guards that forcefully dispersed them..." The woman's lips trembled, "...there are no physicians here. The Revered Mother is a known enemy of Bann Esmerelle...she ordered our two physicians to go to the countryside...to help those who rebelled...to mitigate the damage."

     "No." The word was anguish and pain as it shredded out of my throat. Tears flowed from my eyes...my cheeks were drenched, but I did not remember beginning to weep. "No, that cannot be."

     "It isn't." Another voice came from the door. "I'm here."

     I looked into Kathyra's steely green eyes and flinched at the determination in them. Her eyes burned as she limped into the room, carrying the satchel that contained the tools of her trade. Her arm was wrapped around her waist, protecting an injury fresh enough that she should not be standing. She was in no condition to attempt the arduous task of repairing my wife's broken body.

     "Kathyra, you are in no way well enough to..."

     "You are in no proper state to argue with me, Leliana." The physician appeared in full force, the woman who faced down Cassandra Pentaghast, who had disobeyed the Divine's orders, who had been my friend. "You need to leave the room."

     "What?" I asked, dumbfounded. When it concerned Salem, I had never been banned from the room. Wynne always let me remain beside her, to help her. I was skilled enough to...

     "Leliana, your mind is not well." Kathyra spoke, blunt, absolute truth. "You are no help to Salem here. Kestrel, I need you to assist me. Sister," She turned to the woman beside her, "did the physician's assistants travel to the countryside with them?"

     "There are a few here." The sister stammered.

     "Have them wash and send them to me." Kathyra commanded, taking charge of the room. She walked to me, took my elbow, and walked me to the threshold. "I will do all I can for her." She promised me, compassion burning in her gaze.

     "She said she cannot feel her legs." My broken voice quavered. "Is that..."

     "You know that isn't good, Leliana." Kathyra squeezed my hand, imparting what reassurance she could. "Don't torture yourself. Calm your mind, pray, and let me work."

     With that, she nudged me over the threshold, and shut the door. My heart all but gave out as I heard the bolt slam into place. I knew Kathyra had done the right thing. I was in no fit state to assist a healer. This had never happened during the Blight. In the Frostback Mountains, I reached my limit of what I could bear, but never had I...never had I broken in the way I broke now.

     I heard footsteps and, through tear-blurred vision, watched the elderly man who had brought Salem here run through the hall. He reached the door and attempted to open it.

     "Damn it into hell!" He cursed, slamming an open palm against the door. "I should have been there, should have known, should have gone with her to the damn audience instead of...instead of making certain the crowd dispersed." His despair seemed to mirror my own. "Salem cannot die. It is outside the realm of possibility." He fell to his knees outside the door and rested his forehead against it. "Maker, please," he prayed, echoing my own thoughts, "please spare her life."

     _Yes_. My thoughts cried out as my legs crumpled beneath me, no longer strong enough to hold me up. _Please, look down from your heaven and revoke your silence. Speak into the universe and let her live. Do not steal my choice from me, no matter how difficult it may be. I beg you I beg you I **beg** you...let her live. _

_Please._


	17. Purgatory

**Salem**

     _I am dying. This is no mystery to me. Many times have I been here and traversed this place, the twilight before the long dark, the evensong. I am familiar with the gentle hand inside my own, belonging to a phantom that my eyes cannot see. My old friend. Death itself._

_I walk forward through the familiar dark hallway, not needing light, not needing any sort of reassurance. I have been here too often. The in-between land, somewhere between the Fade and the life beyond, somewhere on the wicked precipice of death and peace and all the things I have longed for. I continue walking, knowing that I shall not be alone for long, that one who has traversed this path before, who has known the kiss of Death, will join me soon. And there will be words, and there will be choices, and I will...I will..._

_**I no longer now. Always before the choice has been between life and death. And the answer always came to me with an irrefutable knowledge of what must be done. To choose life. To choose love. Now, it seems both of those have been taken from me...why fight any longer? Why suffer and live? When triumph lies vanquished, when love lies bleeding, when hope lies strangled and torn...why continue to struggle?**_

_In the distance, the hallway spreads out into a room. A single light illuminate the table. A flat, black glow gleams from its surface, and I grit my teeth as I watch a man rise from his seat, smiling at me with sharpened teeth and obsidian eyes._

_"Look, my friends. At last, it would seem fate and destiny have equalized and brought the vaunted Salem Cousland to her rightful resting place." He speaks, looking to the others who sit at his right and left hand. I cannot see their faces yet, but I know his...and my heart sinks as I understand what is happening._

_**At last...the final, spectacular fall from grace. The weight of the blood on my hands and the failure of my actions and the weakness in my heart has brought me here. There will be no choice for me...not any longer.**_

_I walk towards the table, keeping my eyes on the fathomless black gaze that still, even here, glimmers with loathing. "Hello, Loghain." I pull a chair back from the table, but remain standing._

_"Ah, so you know the rules already?" Loghain asks, his thin lips turning up again in a gesture of triumph. "There are no titles here, no memories of what we were, or the deeds attributed to our names. This is the eternal dark, the forever shadow, where we slog through the damnation we earned in life. You are among the ignominious now, Salem Cousland. In your proper place."_

_"There is no heaven left for you." Another man rises, a face I have seen etched into my nightmares and stamped permanently into my memory. Rendon Howe glares at me from across the table. "Try as you might to undo whatever 'evil' you attribute unto me, when death at last seeks you, it seems you are found no better than I."_

_I stiffen and grasp the back of the chair for support, struck by his words even though I can understand the truth of them. Heroism and villainy...there are no black and white definitions, no clear delineation between the two. In the murky light, in the interwoven silver shades of fate, there is no reason that I should receive a final rest. The Maker is no respecter of persons, and blood is blood, and death is death, and justice is blind."_

_"Are you anticipating that I shall rail against the Maker?" I ask, looking to the two men who set my life upon its path, who turned me from woman to warden, from a lover of peace to a harbinger of death. "That I shall scream and rant and rave against being cast here with those who have done such grievous harm? I will not give you the satisfaction. I am...I am here by my own doing, and my pride has never clouded my vision from the truth, no matter how unpleasant."_

_"Now now now." The third figure rises and smiles at me with ruby lips, her green eyes glimmering with mirth and victory. "Has the one who sacrificed everything for love changed so much that she no longer seeks life with legendary zeal? When my Nightingale took flight, as I warned you that she would, did your spirit collapse inward, into its own darkness, and bring you down to the abyss to mingle with those who have all found themselves dead at the point of your sword?"_

_Her words...her words strike a fire in me that the other two cannot. I slaughtered them for my country, for the mission I had to keep Ferelden safe, to avenge the death of my mother and father and the wrongful murder of the innocent people of Highever. The woman across from me, however, I killed in the madness of love, for the harm she had done...for the torture she inflicted upon the woman who held my heart._

_"I am the creator of my own hell, Marjolaine." I spit her name, hating that I gaze into her face, that those who tormented me in life cannot compare to **this** creature of darkness and spite, whose crimes were greater than Howe's or Loghains, for they were committed beneath the lie of love. "There are none strong enough to craft an abyss for me, none who could engineer my destruction save my **self**."_

_"And do you think the masses will grieve for you, little warden?" Leliana's bardmaster asks, her eyes alight with cunning and self-satisfaction. "Do you think that they shall write poetry and songs, that my pretty thing will walk the earth, alone in her grief, crying for the lover that abandoned her for hell? You say you have built this place? What will you do if she should choose to join you?"_

_"That will **never** happen. She does not deserve this. I **do**." _

_I face my enemies and take a seat, accepting the Maker's final edict. That I am no longer deserving of a place in paradise. I walked from heaven once, and that established the permanence of the decision. I shall remain here, chained with those whom I destroyed in life, for my darkness rivals their own._

_**No matter that I fight against the evil within me. No matter that I have stayed my hand when they would have struck. No matter that I have inflicted every pain upon myself that I can withstand, while they would place it on another's shoulders and walk away guiltless. Forgiveness is but a pretty dream...and when my mother promised me that the Maker would see, and forgive...I was still capable of dreaming. Now...now I am broken, and dreams are dust and blood in my hands, hope slaughtered by reality. **_

_"I deserve this." I state again, daring them to challenge me, to torture me, to kill me again, even in death. "I have no illusions about what I have done. I have slaughtered. I have massacred, all in the name of a greater good that can never be truly illuminated. I led Ser Tamra to her death. I have failed in protecting the people of Amaranthine properly. I have let a murderer go free out of a misguided sense of mercy. I have...I have allowed my lover to depart my protection. What more do you want from me?"_

_"There is no joy in this." Howe spits on the floor, disgust evident in his tone. "Where is the woman who nearly severed my tongue with her blade; who screamed in my face of the righteousness of her vengeance?"_

_"Where is the woman who called me a liar and demanded that I cede my crown in favor of the king's bastard and her own antiquated nobility? Where is the woman who let me be murdered before my daughter's open, tear-filled eyes?" Loghain inquires._

_I look between the two of them, wondering if I am capable of answering their questions. I do not know where that part of me has gone: the confidence, the conviction, the **belief** that I can succeed, no matter what I face. It has been replaced with despondency, weak efforts against a world that resists change with an alarming constancy. It has been replaced by the knowledge that evil and greed lurk ever in the hearts of men, and that no one person can alter what has been set in pace and seeded into hearts generation unto generation. _

_"Where," Marjolaine speaks, and I feel that her question will but twist the dagger in my heart, "is the woman who would do anything for love? Where is the woman who realized that the true measure of sacrifice lies not in the giving of life, but in the living of it?"_

_Loghain nods his agreement, and Howe smiles like a snake._

_"Indeed." The dead once-regent speaks. "Any fool can die for a cause, live on in martyrdom, and be forever worshiped by the weak-minded masses. Blood is easily spilled, and more easily given, as Cailan learned on the fields of Ostagar."_

_"It is not as easy to keep breath in the body, to force fatigued muscles to move, to push faith into a disbelieving heart." Howe continues, grinning all the while._

_"I do not understand." I whisper, looking into each set of eyes that, in their life, gazed upon me with hatred and defiance as I cut short their breath._

_"We lived." Loghain sneers. "The three of us **lived** as we believed, Salem Cousland. You have faltered."_

_"Become weak." Howe continues._

_"Lost your way." Marjolaine smiles. "Sought death at every turn, prayed and begged for it and **searched it out**." _

_"Now it would seem," Loghain takes his seat, and the other two follow._

_"You have lost the choice to live." Howe finishes._

_Marjolaine laughs, the irritating, triumphant giggle that had torn across my spine the first time I heard it. Here, in this place, it seems even more chilling, vicious, and acidic. I am grateful that I slaughtered her when I did, so that she did not inflict such a travesty on the rest of the world._

_"There is little hope for you now, little warden." She smiles, casting a light on the somewhat cryptic words they have spoken. "Once, when you **lived** your beliefs, you had the decision to walk between paradise and the waking world. But now, now that you have fallen so far, and lost all of your hope, you must wait for the Maker's judgement. In our company."_

_"Welcome to a mortal life, Salem Cousland." Loghain raises an imaginary glass in a macabre toast. "Welcome to what your darkness has purchased for you."_

_I cross my arms and remain seated, staring at the faces of my enemies. I know that, somewhere, far away, a war is being fought against the tears in my flesh, the blood spilling from my body, the consequences of letting down my guard. I know that, somewhere, Leliana has been informed, and that she worries, and that her eyes are filled with tears I can do nothing to assuage. I know that, somewhere, my mother and father weep for me and that, somewhere, a silent god stares at my name and judges the deeds that I have done._

_And I know that, once before, I have faced divine judgement, and was found...in and of myself...unworthy._


	18. Hell Come to Earth

**Leliana**

     I remained on the floor leaning against the wall, my knees pulled to my chest. My eyes were sore from weeping, my throat ragged and raw with the sobs that did not cease for a candlemark. At least three had passed, the time marked solely by the sweat beading on my forehead and the pacing of the elder man who brought Salem to the Chantry. I watched him, chewing my lower lip until he ceased pacing and leaned against the wall across from me. A gusty sigh left his lips as he slid down into a slumped position much like my own, weary and world-worn.

     He ran his hand through long, iron grey hair, then looked up at me. There was such kindness and worry in his eyes that I began to weep again, a fiercer pain slicing at my heart than before. I did not even know this man, but his eyes were swollen with tears, his hands were trembling with worry.

     "Who are you?" I asked in attempt to end the cloying silence, the worries, the faint noises I continued hearing through the door, driving me slowly more mad each time.

     "I am called Varel, Lady Cousland." He introduced himself. "Seneschal of Vigil's Keep and intermediary for the arlessa in her absence."

     "Well met." I brushed tears from my cheeks, attempting civility, struggling to find a mask to hide behind, though he had witnessed me sobbing for a candlemark, despondent and desperate and afraid. "Seneschal Varel...if it is not too much to ask, might I inquire as to what...what happened to...to my wife?"

     He hung his head and the weight of shame settled on his shoulders. "Did you know of the conspiracy against her life?" He inquired, and I nodded. He pursed his lips in a frown and shook his head. "There was a riot at the Keep." He began the tale. "The guard captain wanted to use force to disperse it, but I ordered them to send for arlessa. She...she spoke to them and I...I have never seen such regality, such nobility, such daring. She walked amidst the rioters, spoke to them as though she were _one_ of them...knelt before them and begged their understanding. She calmed them and not a single drop of blood was shed."

     The knot in my throat tightened as I remembered Salem in Highever, bowing to her people, begging their forgiveness for a crime she had not committed. Her steadfast belief that nobles, not common people, were the true servants. An anachronistic belief that had been forsaken by every single person in power...save Salem. And, now, save for Alistair Theirin. Both of them were consummate servants, sworn to the land, sworn to its people.

     "She knows no equal." I breathed, chilled to the bone as the image of her, still and bloodsoaked, that damned scarf stuffed into a grave wound, lingered in front of my eyes and would not depart.

     "Indeed." The seneschal agreed. "Two vassal lords, Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine and Lord Guy, had faced similar riots and come to the Keep to address the matter with the arlessa...they did not end as well as the confrontation at the Keep with...with her."

     I cringed as he refused to say Salem's name; kept calling her "the arlessa," as I had once referred to her as "the warden"...a title, to distract myself from how dear she was to my heart, how much she meant to me...how devastated I would be at her loss...even then.

     _How much more so now?_ I wondered, twisting the ring she placed on my finger. _I have only now come back to her...is she going to be snatched away from me so quickly? I do not want her to die...and I do not want to leave her!_ The realization struck me like lightning from heaven. _I do not want to leave her._

     "I...I do not know all of the details." Varel muttered. "But I heard clattering, clashing, then silence as I drew near the door. Then she...she called my name. I found her slumped against the fire pit, bleeding badly, surrounded by five bodies, Lord Guy among them. She named Esmerelle as her attacker. Damn Salem's blessed heart," He spoke her name at last, leaning his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling in despair, "she sent our only competent healer with the leader of the riot...to...to tend to his injured son. Her mercy may have...may have damned her."

     I squeezed my eyes shut against a fresh onslaught of tears, mimicking Varel's expression, staring to the sky in despair. _Damn you into hell, Salem!_ I screamed inside my mind. _Why must you always, **always** forego sensibility!? Why can you **never** care for yourself!? _

     I dragged myself to my feet and began pacing, my heart hammering in my ears like a war drum. My fists clenched in a fury that had no outlet. I wanted this Esmerelle's blood on my hands; I wanted her to feel the knife she had rammed inside my lover's body. To know the terror she had visited on me.

     Time passed, dragging on. The Revered Mother came and sat beside me, praying for Salem's life. I begged the Maker to listen to her words, if she would not listen to mine. When the mother left for evening vespers, I went with her. I knelt in the chapel, listening to the sister's songs, praying for my lover's life, fixated to the dried blood on my hands, unable to wash it off. What if it was the last I touched her? I begged that Kathyra's hands be guided, that she would be able to bring Salem back from the edge of eternity.

     When vespers ended, I returned to my vigil to find a lay sister with a meal and a message from Varel. He had left to attend what he called matters of state...but I could read between the lines he wrote and the words he used. He would be sending a message to King Alistair...he would be asking for a writ of execution for one Bann Esmerelle. I prayed the message would reach the man I knew so well, so that justice would be done. The lay sister left and I was alone again, alone with my worry and the pain in my chest that threatened to eat me alive as the sun left the sky.

     _How can this be happening,_ I asked for the thousandth time as I rested my hand against the barred door. _Maker, what are you doing? What purpose does this have? She has...she has so little time already. Would you see it torn down to nothing? Are you...are you afraid? Are you afraid of the woman who opened your heart, who reminded you of the ferocity, power, and beauty of love? Why...why would you take from me my one source of joy? If I am your prophet, your beloved, why would you take her from me?_

     The door opened and I stopped breathing as Kestrel emerged, closing the door behind her. Her hands and shirt sleeves were soaked with blood, her long, black hair soaked with sweat, her eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. Her flaring viridian gaze met mine and fear gripped my heart.

     "Kestrel..." My voice cracked, faltered, and I stared at her in mute despair.

     The younger woman wrapped her arms around me as I trembled. I felt a terror within her embrace, my body went cold and I began shaking. Kestrel held me tighter as I trembled, a young woman, kind and generous, offering me her strength.

     "Salem lives, Leliana." She whispered and I pulled away from her, searching her eyes from any hint of deceit. Her gaze remained clear, though tired.

     "Tell me everything you know." I pleaded, desperate for even the harshness of the truth. "Please, Kestrel, I beg you."

     Kestrel shook her head. "It is...grim." She told me, and I hated myself for a moment, for exposing such a young woman to such trials and terrors in quick succession. "I think it best that Kathyra speak to you. She knows...she will be able to explain it better. I can only...only see the blood." The mage-templar shuddered and my heart went out to her.

     Before I could speak further, Kathyra exited the room, wiping her bloodied hands on a disgusting, stained apron. She looked weary to the bone, her skin ashen and wan, sweat dripping down her face, her eyes dull and pained. She winced as she removed the apron and her shirt rose, revealing the bandage wrapped around her waist. A large red stain splayed across the white of the cloth and I wanted to tear my hair out. Everyone I cared for was hurt in some way, so much blood and pain and injury that I felt myself responsible.

     "Leliana..." Kathyra pushed herself off of the door, beginning to speak, but ceasing as her skin went another shade of white.

     She swayed and began listing forward. I caught her before she fell, holding her against me, feeling the chill of her skin. She had remained on her feet too long, and was too weak to endure the exertions she had undergone. Frantic as I was with worry, I could not let Kathyra suffer for...for helping Salem. For helping me.

     "It can wait." I whispered, holding her until she regained her feet. "We need to get you into bed."

     "Yes, thank you." Kathyra's words slurred, but she quickly looked abashed. "I'm...I'm sorry."

     "It is all right." I wrapped my arm around her waist and guided her to the back of the Chantry clinic, towards her cot. "You've done so much for me. I cannot thank you enough."

     I helped settle the physician on the cot and a lay sister appeared with a pitcher and cups of water. I poured one for Kathyra and one for Kestrel. They drained it in seconds and Kathyra looked up at me, sorrow filling her eyes. I clenched my hands into fists, preparing for the dark news.

     "I do not even know how to begin." Kathyra admitted. "There was so much damage, Leliana...her right arm is badly injured. I stitched the muscle together, but there was so much..." Kathyra's eyes faded into a look of horror, "...so much scar tissue there. If she wields a sword with that arm again, I will be...I will be shocked."

     "Maker." I breathed, devastated, terrified that the news was already so dire, and not yet complete.

     "The blade in her back went very deep, Leliana." Kathyra warned me. "To the bone. Based on the staining on the blade, the tip lodged in her spine, and there was...there was nerve damage. I would posit that is why she told you that she could not feel her legs."

     I gasped and placed my hand to my parted lips. I remembered clutching the hilt of the throwing blade and pulling it out of her skin. What if I had...oh Maker...what if Salem never walked again...because of me? Because of my haste. Because I did not take the proper time and...

     "It likely happened the first time the blade was jarred." Kathyra's hand pulled mine away from my lips. She laced her fingers through mine and squeezed, attempting to impart reassurance to a heart and mind that could _not_ be reassured. "I can assure you that your withdrawing it did not cause the damage. The sole thing that might...might be able to repair it is magic. I did not stitch the wound; simply bandaged it in hopes that Wynne might have the skill to mend the nerves."

     "And if not?" My voice held a panicked edge. "If the damage is permanent, Kathyra? Will my wife _walk_ again?"

     Kathyra hung her head, her ash-blonde curls shielding her expression. My heart raced in my chest. "I don't know, Leliana." She answered after a long pause, and my breath caught in my lungs, remaining still, frozen in time. "In all honesty, that should be the least of your worry. Esmerelle's knife pierced the intestine." My breath rushed out and I felt as though I'd been punched in the stomach by an ogre.

     "No." I did not want to hear any more; I did not know if I could _bear_ to hear any more...but I had to. She was my _wife_. I _loved_ her and she _needed_ me. "Oh, Maker, please no."

     "She's lost a dangerous amount of blood." Kathyra squeezed my hand again; her other hand rested on my shoulder as more horrible words crossed her lips. "And while I've managed to stop the bleeding, she is...she is..." The physician's voice cracked and she pinched her eyes shut. My stomach twisted when I saw tears slip from beneath her lashes. "If only there had been a healer there." Kathyra whispered, and I knew she no longer spoke to me, but to herself, a regret and sorrow in her tone that speared my heart. "Or if she had been brought here sooner. I cannot...I couldn't...Leliana," She opened her eyes and cupped my face with her hands, "Leliana, I'm _sorry_. I did...everything I could. I _tried_."

     I felt blood drain from my face as Kathyra's eyelids fluttered. I knew that she had more to tell me. I grasped her wrists, parting my lips to ask when the hands touching me went limp. Her body shuddered and she began to fall backwards. I reached out and wrapped an arm around her back, supporting her neck with my other hand.

     "Kathyra?" I asked, but she did not answer. 

     Her exhaustion and her own injuries had overcome her. I wanted to be angry, to be frustrated, I still felt in the dark, but I could not even begin to fathom what she'd told me. Knowing that there was more gnawed at me with razor teeth. I eased her down onto her pillow, placed her legs on the cot, and drew the blankets over her, adding another when I saw her still shivering. I pressed my fingertips to the pulse point at her neck, reassured when I felt the firm, steady beat against my skin. She was all right, simply over-tired.

     "Leliana?" Kestrel asked and I flinched, having not heard her approach. "Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you."

     "What else is wrong?" I asked the young templar. "There was something Kathyra was going to tell me, but she fainted."

     "Leliana..." Kestrel trailed off, her eyes adopting a faraway look, the look of someone who wished to conceal devastating truth in order to refrain from harming another.

     " _Tell me!_ " I shouted, desperate and at my end. I had passed the entire day in worry and fear. While the truth was not comforting in the slightest, it was the _truth_. I required it. "Please." My voice broke, all energy and fire depleted. "I am terrified to know, but the lack of knowing is _killing_ me."

     Kestrel breathed deep and I knew the news was dire. "There were herbs that Kathyra said would help. She administered them and mixed more...I cannot remember their names, but she said they were used to treat...blood poisoning."

     "No." I shook my head. "No, it can't be." I turned away from Kestrel. "Not that. Anything but that. Anything but..."

     "Leliana, what..."

     "There is no remedy!" I rounded on Kestrel and shouted, not caring that I disturbed the infirmary. "Wounds can be healed, bones can be mended, and poisons have antidotes, but illnesses _can only be treated!_ And blood poisoning...you've only seen a battlefield once, Kestrel...blood poisoning is...it is as good as a death sentence."

     "Oh." Kestrel's face fell. "That explains..."

     "What?" I demanded. "That explains _what_?"

     "Shite." Kestrel cursed. "I spoke wrongly."

     "But you _did_ speak." My fear manifested as anger, but I could not bring myself to care. "Now you owe me the words."

     Kestrel's expression hardened. "Aboard the ship, I saw Rylie and Kathyra fighting for their lives." She told me. "Even unconscious, you can see when someone is doing all that they can to survive. If blood poisoning is so dire, then it would explain why...why Salem is not fighting. It seems as if...as if..."

     "As if she wants to die." Horror swallowed me as, at that moment, I saw the true depths of Salem's torment; the nightmare her life comprised.

     _Nothing to cling to. No hope to claim. Nothing but the promise of continuous torture, loneliness, longing, and despondence. It is...it is unfathomable. It is the life I led in Lothering...only Salem has the knowledge...the knowledge that it could be different. And it is I...it is I who have done this to her. Oh, Maker._

     "Forgive my outburst." I murmured to the young woman. "Thank you for helping Salem. Please..." I spoke around the lump in my throat, "...please care for Kathyra...and yourself. Make certain you eat. I need...I need to be with my wife."

     "I will pray for her." Kestrel offered me more than she knew, for I knew her faith had been sorely tried and tested; that Rylie's injuries and brush with death had crippled Kestrel's already fading faith. 

     I fought to keep my composure as I left the infirmary. My stomach churned, my throat felt too tight, my tongue too thick. A block of ice lived in my chest where my heart should have been. My hands were trembling and I felt too hot, as though I stood beneath a scorching sun, but my feet were frigid and my knees made of water.

     I ducked my way into the lay sister's dormitory, stumbled behind the privacy wall, fell to my knees, and retched into a chamber pot. Acid and bile scoured my throat and soon I was reduced to dry heaves, anxiety and fear shredding my body. The spasms seemed to last forever, but when they eased at last, I sagged against the wall, breathing heavy, dizzied from the lack of air.

     _I cannot just sit here!_ My mind screamed at my recalcitrant body. _Salem, my love, my heart, my **wife** , is **dying** in a nearby room! I have to **be** with her! She **needs** me! _

     "Lady Cousland." I heard a soft voice and looked into the eyes of the Revered Mother. "Here, my child." She handed me a cup of water.

     I drank and cleansed my mouth, spitting the water out, then drinking the rest. The Revered Mother knelt beside me and washed my face with a damp cloth, cleaning away the salt of sweat and tears. The cool linen felt like heaven against my skin, reminding me of when the Revered Mother Dorothea cared for me after the horror of Val Royeaux. I wished that she were here with me. I needed her counsel, her guidance, and her...her mothering nature.

     "I was there when the vassal lords swore fealty to Arlessa Cousland." The Revered Mother broke the silence as she poured water into a bowl and began to wash the morning's dried blood from my hands. "On that day, I felt hope for the first time during my tenure here. Hope, because I knew that the people I work to aid and uplift would be able to raise their voice without the fear of a blade cutting their throat. The hearts of Amaranthine's citizens are all lifted in prayer." She assured me, "Prayer for the survival of your wife from this treachery. Prayers avail much, but nothing consoles the ill and injured like the presence of those they love."

     "I know." I groaned, remembering Wynne's words from Fort Drakon, about love being the greatest healer of all. But I had sundered that link between me and Salem. I had remained indecisive; I had questioned my life with her when there had been a _choice_ to stay with her or return to Val Royeaux...and I _deliberated_. "I know I have to be strong...for her sake..."

     "No, my child." The Revered Mother shook her head. "You do not have to be strong." She soothed her weathered hand through my hair. "Love thrives from strength, but it _listens_ to brokenness. Feel as you feel, Lady Cousland. Lies destroy even the strongest love. Even the lie of strength for the benefit of a loved one."

     Tearful, afraid, I nodded, grateful for this woman who was a stranger to me, who washed away my tears and cleaned the blood from my hands. She helped me stand and kept a supportive arm around me as she led me to the door.

     "If ever you have need, my door is open." She offered as we parted ways.

     "Thank you." I whispered, my voice scratchy, my heart raw.

     I walked down the hallway, no longer suffering, believing in the Revered Mother's words, allowing myself to be broken. I did not want to pretend strength. I did not want to struggle to present what I did not possess, in this moment. If Cassandra could see me now, she would laugh. She would mock me. That strengthened me as I stood outside the door. I would do _nothing_ to be worthy of that woman's mockery.

     I entered the room, haunted by memories as the scent of blood, herbs, and antiseptics bombarded me with sickening familiarity. My lips trembled as I stared at the stone table in the center of the room, and the long, thick lines of crimson trailing down it. They had not been there when Salem was brought in. It was her blood.

     _Blood spilled for all the world. Blood spilled for the sake of a hollow, **meaningless, greedy **vendetta! It is not **fair!**_

     I shut the door behind me and steeled my heart. I went to Salem, straining to control the renewed trembling of my body. She rested there, still and silent as the stone she rested on. I could feel the heat emanating from her skin without even touching it. Tears spilled from my eyes again as I witnessed the horrific landscape of her body.

     The black circles beneath her eyes had grown impossibly darker, and her skin seemed paler than it was in the wagon. Her body wore a layer of sweat, and her chest rose and fell with fast, erratic, shallow breaths. Her left thigh, right arm, and midsection were wrapped with crimson-splashed bandages. She looked no worse than I had witnessed her before, but Kathyra and Kestrel's words rang in my ears like a death knell.

     _Nerve damage...pierced intestine...blood poisoning..._

     Salem's flesh appeared translucent; I could see the pulse at her neck through the skin, racing, intermittent, and weak. She'd lost so much blood. I remembered Salem's torture in Howe's dungeons. Alistair shared his blood with Salem...I wished desperately that I could do the same. I, however, did not bear the taint. My blood would simply make Salem more ill.

     "Why can't I save you?" I breathed the question, reaching out, loathing the serenity of her features. I knew it all too well.

     _The peace of death. The sole time she has ever seemed truly at rest._

     I tucked Salem's tousled hair behind her ears, then rested my hand on her forehead. She burned with fever, higher than any temperature she'd ever run. I reached for a nearby bowl of water, and the cloth that hung over its side. I soaked the cloth, wrung it out, and began washing the sweat from Salem's heated brow and the hollow of her throat. I rested my hand on her scarred cheek and pressed my forehead to her own, my lips hovering over hers as if I could breathe life into her. My tears dripped onto her fevered skin like a rain of desperation.

     "You listen to me, Salem Cousland." I whispered, taking her hand and squeezing it as tight as I dared. "Your time in this world is _not_ done. I am _not_ ready to let you go. You want to die, you want to rest, and I _understand_ that. But there _will_ be _time_ for that... ** _later_**. I am not begging, my love. I am not praying. You _will_ return to me, and I will hold you in my arms, and we will _love_ as we were meant. Start. Fighting. You are a soldier, and that _is_ an _**order!** " _

     I pressed my lips to hers in a desperate kiss. A promise, should she return to claim it.

     "Even if I damn my soul into hell," I whispered, both to Salem and the Maker, "I will stand by you, my love. There _was_ no choice. I will not return to Val Royeaux. The Chantry and Divine be damned. I belong with _you_. I made my first vow to _you_. I _love_ you, Salem. I _love_ you."

     I gazed away from my wife's still, bloodless features into heaven.

     "Do you hear me, Maker!" I shouted. "I am at my end with tests and questions! If denying the love of the woman who _opened your heart and **ended your silence**_ is a sin, then _punish_ me as you see fit! If your true desire for this world is love, then _fucking **prove**_ it! _**Bring her back to me!** " _

     My voice quieted and I looked back down to my wife's beloved face, tracing every scar on her beautiful, beleaguered body.

     "Please." Now, I did pray. "Bring her back to me."

     I watched Salem, my heart fit to burst with joy when her eyelids twitched, fluttered, then opened. Her eyes gazed on me, full of so much pain that my tears intensified. I could do nothing for her agony...her body could not bear the side-effects of the strong herbs used for pain relief. I despised the world and everything within it.

     "Leli...ana." A hoarse, cracked voice met my ears and sounded like a symphony...but her eyes troubled me. They were unfocused, fever-bright...they saw me, but they were not in this world. "Help me, please." She begged, and my heart tore asunder. "It... _hurts_."

     Her lips parted, an anguished cry peeled from them, and her eyes rolled back. I gripped her hand tighter, praying she would return to consciousness, but her eyelids slipped closed, leaving me nothing but the echo of her pain. I clung to her, unable to control the sob that ripped from my chest.


	19. Breath of Heaven

**Salem**

_"Have you had enough yet, Cousland?" Loghain asks, smiling down at me, emanating sheer malice. "Did you think we would simply let you sit amongst us, you, who tore our lives away? Just because we are forced to linger in this same place does **not** mean we will stand idly by. We **still** harbor ill will against you." He laughed, low and dark and despotic. "Perhaps this is the Maker's justice, yes?" He turns to his comrades and they smile, as crazed as he.   
_

_I lie on the ground, struggling to breathe past the bruises on my body and the lacerations in my skin. It had not taken my less than delightful company long to veer from verbal abuse to physical. Loghain had bound my arms behind me with sharpened shackles that sliced into my wrists. He held me captive, letting Howe beat me to a bloodied pulp before he himself joined in on the pleasure of my torture. Marjolaine stands at the table, flipping her wicked, barbed stiletto in her hand. I still remember the feeling of the blade within my body, and I dread experiencing it again, for I know...I know that I will._

_"Get up." Howe sneers, kicking me in the ribs._

_Broken bone grates against flesh and I struggle to my hands and knees, crawling away from them and vomiting blood onto the ground. Muscle spasms shake my entire body and my mouth fills with the sickening taste of copper, salt, and acid. I struggle to stand up, but my legs will not hold my weight. I collapse back to the ground._

_"Oh, look at the poor thing." Marjolaine coos, her voice sickly-sweet. "So broken and alone. No sweet voice to call you back from death's door. No savior's hand to deliver you from hell."_

_"How the mighty have fallen." Loghain grips the back of my shirt and hauls me to my feet, gloating as he stares at the wreck they have made of my body. "Are you still the martyr, Salem Cousland? Are you still the lover of sacrifice, the lover of that which saw you in Howe's dungeon, being ripped apart. Look where it has gotten you."_

_**Surrounded by my enemies,** I fight to lift my head, to see through vision that is all-too blurry. **Surrounded by those whose crimes I share...but...why? Why am I here, when my crimes were committed in the defense of others? I tried...so hard...to never act on a solely selfish desire. And when I did...my mother...a woman who has never lied, said that the Maker forgave me, so why...why am I here!?**_

     _Loghain lifts me in his arms and carries me to the table. He throws my limp body onto it and I grown as the impact bruises my back. Marjolaine smiles and her blade flashes downward, slashing open the inside of my forearm, from elbow to wrist. I hiss through clenched teeth, reaching over and attempting to staunch the bleeding, to no avail. Blood slips through my fingers, spilling onto the table, and I feel a familiar fire streak through my veins._

_"You remember this, don't you?" Marjolaine asks. "The feeling of a slow poison working its insidious way towards your heart? Only now there is no witch to manufacture an antidote. There is no mage to force lightning through your heart." She leans down to my ear and whispers, "There is no beautiful bard to weep for you, to pray for you. You are alone, little warden. And you will die in the land of death; all that you stole from us will be taken from you, in blood and bone, in flesh and sinew. Here, you shall see all that you lost...beneath the power of those who stole it from you."_

_"Aunt Salem!" A new voice shatters through the fevered haze of poison, of the beating, of the merciless barbs of my enemies with whom I share hell. "Aunt Salem, help me. **Please!** " _

_**Oren!** My nephew is here somehow, crying out for me. I cannot fail...I cannot fail him again!_

_I force the pain away, the broken bones, the internal bleeding, the poison that has killed me once. My vision clears as I see Rendon Howe holding a fistful of my nephew's hair, a malicious smile on his face and a knife in his hand. The man who slit my nephew's throat in life threatens to do so again, and I am broken and weak and without a weapon._

_"Hear that, Cousland?" Howe asks, jerking Oren's small, defenseless body against him. Tears well in my nephew's side eyes and my heart clenches painfully. "Do you hea     r the voices of those dearest to you, the ones you could not save? Not even now...now when we are all dead, you do not have the strength of will to move from that table. You **will** watch me kill him again."_

_I struggle to move as Howe's knife approaches Oren's throat, but I cannot. My muscles have gone limp; my broken bones eat further into my body. I am fighting even to breathe. I open my mouth to speak, but I cannot form words. Fire builds behind my eyes, consuming me as Marjolaine's poison rushes through my veins. I am afraid that Howe is right...that I am as helpless now as I was that night in Highever...the night when everything was taken from me...when I took the first step on the road that led me to hell._

_**No!** I shriek inside my mind. **No! I will not watch this happen! No one will take what I love from me! I have suffered enough! I have tortured myself enough! I have let my soul fall into darkness and it has taken death to snap me from the error of my ways, but I...I see now, I see the truth that my own foolish indulgence in grief has blinded me to! And I will not fall prey to it again! **_

_"Do...not... **dare**...lay your hands on him!" I swing my legs over the edge of the table and force myself to my feet, as I have done countless times before. Injury is nothing. Pain is nothing. Poison is nothing. _

_"Witness your sin!" Loghain bellows as Howe grasps Oren's chin and tilts his head back. "Witness your failure, Cousland! Witness it in the blood on your hands and the lives you could not spare!"_

_I lunge at Howe and wrest Oren away from him, tucking my nephew against my side as the three approach me. My vision fades in and out, but I lift my chin, choosing defiance, choosing **truth.**_

_"My only sin." I gasp, breathing heavy, flecks of blood flying from my lips as I speak. "Is in believing that I deserved to be in your loathsome company. I have done **nothing** but strive to preserve life! My only failure is that one good cannot outweigh the **grievou s evil** that taints your hearts! I am...no martyr...for even though I have **longed** for death, and sought it out, I. Still. Live! I am here due only to **my own foolish, ignorant** self-loathing! This is not my time, and this is not my hell. For, when I do, in truth, greet death..." I shield Oren's body as the three draw knives and plunge them into my body, again and again and again until all I am is torn flesh and spilled blood. I fall to my knees, gripping Oren's shoulders for support. I take my nephew's face between my scared hands and smile at him. "...I will be...in paradise...with those I left behind."_

_My nephew flees to an approaching figure and I collapse to the cold stone of the ground, finding, instead, lush grass. I hear the sound of birdsong as my blood soaks into the earth. A cool breeze whispers past my ears and I let the tension in my muscles ease, knowing somehow that Oren is safe, and that Loghain, Howe, and Marjolaine are nowhere near us._

_"Please, milady." I hear Oren's voice from far away. "Please help my auntie! She's been hurt...she was only trying to save me from the bad men, and they hurt her! Please, milady, please!"_

_**It's...all right.**_

_I rest my head against the earth and smile, watching through blurred vision as a delicate pair of bare feet come nearer. A figure kneels beside me and I see a waterfall of indigo curls while eyes, beautiful and silver as the full moon, look into mine._

_"At last you see the truth of it." Speaks the voice of time immemorial and ocean depths. "At last you have allowed me near you."_

_A pair of small hands gathers me into an embrace and lifts my broken body without effort. A peace I have never known infuses me and I feel comforted as I never have been before._

_"I was never deaf to you, my child." She whispers, placing the softest of kisses on my bruised and bleeding brow. "But you are no longer entirely mine, and you held such bitterness against me that I could not draw near, no matter how much my heart bled for you."_

_"Who...who are you?" I ask, feeling the poison leave my body as warmth infuses me from her touch._

_"I am that which you named silent; that which you railed against in anger. I am that which has taken everything from you, and would give back what I can, if only you will allow me."_

_"M...Maker?" I ask, barely coherent enough to understand what is happening._

_"You know me by that name." She smiles, and it is the radiance of the sun and the heat of an impassioned embrace. "Just as you now realize that it was not my choosing, but your own, that set you among your enemies in this moment. You have done no wrong in my eyes, Salem Cousland, but your heart is stronger than most...strong enough to craft your own eternity."_

_"I...I do not understand." I breathe as she sets me down with great care amidst a field of wildflowers._

_"And you need not." Her fingers trail over the wounds left on me by the beating and the attack and I feel my pain begin to fade. "Understand this, and this alone. You are seen. You are heard. You are deserving of life and living, and the joys thereof. You are loved."_

_"But..."_

_"None of that, my child." Her fingers whisper over my eyes, closing them. "There is one very dear to us both who is calling for you. Go to her, Salem, and cease this search for death. You've a long road before you...recovery will be a battle, but I trust you will fight well."_

_"I have...so many...questions." I murmured, growing sleepy._

_"Answers will come. In time. Rest now, my warrior. Rest and dream of what you shall return to and, clinging to that dream, fight what now assails."_

_**What I shall return to...Leliana...** the sound of her name is a song in my heart. **Leliana, forgive me. I have been a fool. But never has my love of you faltered and I...I can be again who I once was. If I am allowed to return to you, I swear, on my name and my blood and my honor, I will return to you a different woman.**_


	20. Memories, Sweet and Sacrosanct

**Leliana**

     _If ever there was anything I despised, it is this feeling of uselessness._

     I watched the moon rise higher in the sky, glimmering silver and hopeful in the dark of night. At least two candlemarks had passed since I entered the room. I spent the time praying, begging, pleading...weeping until I thought I was out of tears. I _needed_ her to recover, to get well.

     Instead, her condition deteriorated. I could see it in the waxy sheen of her skin, the labored, uneven, too-quick rasping of her breath, the fever that continued to rise, the fact that her abdomen was firm and rigid beneath my touch as the infection in her blood continued to ravage. Her eyes worked frantically beneath her lids and every now and again she would mutter something unintelligible.

     _Leli...help me, please...it **hurts**_.

     I wondered if those were the last words I would ever hear from her beautiful voice as I attempted to bring her temperature down. I bathed her body in cool water, lingering over every scar, remembering the terrible battles that had brought her to her knees again and again...the worried nights I spent by her side, much like now, wondering if she would ever wake.

     _Always, she would rise. Always, with that determination in her eyes and the defiant set of her lips. She is so beautiful..._

     I ran my thumb along the indigo and scarlet scar on her cheek.

     _And she made everything beautiful. That which I thought too damaged...she shone a new light upon it, one of acceptance, one of love, and I...I began to believe again. I am fighting to believe now...that she will open her eyes. That she will heal. That she will get well._

     "Come back to me." I whispered, the same words I had said as I witnessed her broken body at the top of Fort Drakon. "If you had the strength to walk out of heaven, surely you can tear yourself from where you are now. You made the world new for me, Salem. You gave me back my music, you restored my shredded voice...you gave me back my beauty...all that which was stolen, you restored."

     I pressed my trembling lips against her still, silent mouth. Her lips tasted of blood...as they had the first time she kissed me...

* * *

     _"Good as new." Wynne announces, patting my knee in a motherly gesture._

_I wince as I trace the line of stitches across my forehead, biting my lower lip. **Do not ask,** I command myself as I clench my hand into a fist. **It no longer matters. I have no beauty left to me...what difference does it make if there are scars where all can see. I am no longer a bard. I no longer have to be beautiful.**_

_"Will it scar?" Warmth envelops me from behind, and the sound of the warden's voice sends shivers down my spine as she asks the question I will not give voice to...so much do I fear the answer._

_"No." Wynne smiles encouragement and Salem extends a hand to help the healer from her seat on a tree stump. "Between Morrigan's collection of herbs and my own healing magic, our bard will be quite well mended. I should be able to remove the stitches in a week."_

_"Thank you, Wynne." Salem squeezes the senior enchanter's hand and Wynne returns to her tent._

_The warden kneels before me and draws my gaze to hers, and there is a tenderness in her eyes that I have seen more and more often as we travel together, battling darkspawn and making good on ancient contracts. Her arm is still bandaged from the werewolve's attack in the Brecilian forest, and I absent-mindedly reach out and touch the cloth that protects her healing skin._

_Fire rushes through me as her hand closes over mine, as I feel every inch of our connected skin, her swordsman's calluses, the delicate tremors of exhaustion through her muscles. She looks so tired and worn, there is a fine sheen of sweat on her face from the battle, but there is a kindness in her eyes that calms me. It makes me want to hear her voice, to touch her skin, and I find that terrifying. I know the dangers of growing close, and I do not know if I can bear the pain of trusting again._

_"How are you feeling?" Salem asks, and it seems as though time falls away, as her quiet inquiry drowns the noises of Zevran's lewd jokes, Morrigan's sardonic laughter, and Alistair's blushing protestations of his virginity._

_"Profoundly stupid." I reply, eager to tear myself from these uncomfortable emotions, these feelings that have been building in the pit of my stomach for a month and a half now._

_**The way she looks at me...as if there is no one else in the world. I knew such a gaze once before...and the hands attached to it seduced me, enthralled me...nearly killed me. I will not suffer from such a thing again.**_

_A fleeting smile crosses Salem's face and she winces as the split in her lip from the earlier skirmish tears anew, leaving a bright bead of blood on the tender skin. Her smile is lovely, even marred by blood...but it seems she is always marked by blood. It worries me that I can smile at the thought of scarlet being her color. It is a foolish, sentimental thought that has no place in my thoughts._

_"You were caught off guard." She attempts to comfort me. "It could have happened to any of us."_

_"I dodged a charging hurlock, tripped on a root, and cracked my head on a rock." I shake my head as laughter bubbles in my chest. The dull ache in my head becomes a devastating throb, and I groan, regretting the action._

_Salem rises to her feet with a dancer's grace, moves behind me, and I groan for an entirely different reason as her strong hands massage the tightened muscles in my neck, driving the headache away. Her touch is glorious and soothing, so different from the grasp of the soft, perfumed hands to which I am accustomed._

_"It's not your fault." She tells me, the low timbre of her voice sending shivers down my spine. "I am quite certain that the roots are in league with the darkspawn. Not even the most deft and dextrous of us could withstand such a treacherous alliance."_

_I laugh at her words, a rare display of light humor from our normally stoic, black-humored warden. Her hands continue their divine treatment and I feel my bones melt beneath her ministrations. The deep tissue massage becomes a lighter caress, titillating every nerve, sending thoughts spiraling through my mind._

_**It has been years,** I recall, biting back sounds of pleasure and contentment, **years since I felt another's touch in this way. Maker's breath...she is so gentle. How is it possible that hands so suited to weaponry and battle can be so soothing, so tender, so...perfect?**_

_"Better?" She asks, moving her hands away, leaving me aching at their loss and at the desire to feel them again._

_**But they would pull away...the instant she could see the horrid landscape of my body...her hands would withdraw, her gorgeous eyes would fill with horror. I am a lie.**_

_"Yes. Thank you." I fold my hands in my lap, afraid that they will reach for her, cling to her, promise her something that I cannot give._

_"I'm glad." She kneels before me again. "I know you must be dizzy from the blow. Let me help you back to your tent. You should get some rest."_

_I smile at her and her eyes spark with an emotion I know all too well, and it terrifies me. **There is desire dwelling there...perhaps something deeper. But I cannot. I have seen how this ends and...and I am afraid.**_

_"I cannot retire." I tell her. "I drew first watch."_

_"That was **before** the darkspawn attacked." She stands and offers me her hand. "I have already spoken with the others." I glance around the camp and notice that everyone has retreated to their tents for the evening. "Burrow and I will take first watch, then Alistair and Wynne, then Zevran and Morrigan. You, my lady, will have the luxury of sleeping an entire night through."_

_"I'm fine, Salem." I protest, feeling guilty that I seem to be a consistent inconvenience to this beautiful woman who wears exhaustion like a cloak. "Truly, I am more than capable of sitting around a fire and listening for odd noises." I smile to lessen the harshness of my words, expecting a reprimand, or a stern lecture on how important our continued health is to the mission._

_Instead, Salem's hand reaches out, cradling my cheek. "Let me care for you." She whispers, and her words and their unmistakable **honesty** batter against the rapidly deteriorating shields around my heart. "Please. I have come to believe that you are...that we are...close, and I...I have so little to give, Leliana. A full night's sleep seems a paltry thing to offer but...but it is what I have. So please...for me?"_

_**How is it...how is it that she never asks anything for herself, and even when she does...it is somehow for another? **_

_I fit my hand into hers and she pulls me to my feet. The world spins and I stumble from a sudden wave of dizziness. In a flash, she is at my side, fitting a strong arm about my waist, holding me against her with a beautiful, soft, generous strength. I lean into the lean, angular lines of her powerful body, taking comfort from her warmth and solidity._

_"Thank you." I mumble, ducking my head so that she does not see the furious blush coloring my cheeks._

_"Think nothing of it." She keeps supporting me as we walk the short distance to my tent._

_**But...but I cannot think nothing of it. Every gesture, every word, every kindness you extend...you are making me dream again, Salem Cousland. It has been so long since I...since I wanted anything at all from anyone. I'm so scared...these feelings...these emotions...I have known them before and they have destroyed me. **_

_All too soon we are at my tent, and I realize that we have been standing here longer than the norm, and I have made no move to pull away from her embrace. I want to believe that it is due to my head injury, but I know the reason. For the first time in my life, I am in an **honest** embrace, and it is...it is beyond exhilarating. I want to take the comfort she offers me. I desire to bask in that comfort, but I do not know why it is present...what she desires from me in return. _

_"Leliana," She asks, so sweet, so soft, so caring, "is everything all right?" She pulls me closer to her and I can sense her concern. "Maker's breath, you're shaking. Are you unwell?" She moves a large, callused hand to my forehead. "You do feel warm. Do I need to fetch Wynne?"_

_She moves to leave and I grasp her arm, staying her, awash with feeling and confused and afraid and tongue-tied... **but I simply must speak! **_

_"W...wh...what do you want from me, Salem?" I ask, thinking that, if I can understand her motives, I can make sense of my bewilderment._

_"Want from you?" She repeats the question, her eyes searching mine for a sense of direction that I cannot provide. "I...I am afraid of want, Leliana." She confesses. "But I...I **feel** you when you speak. When you sang for me, your voice reopened doors that I shut after my family's death and thought would never open again. Of all of us, you alone joined this band with no compulsion, no sense of debt, and no hesitation. I have seen the way you look at me, the questions in your eyes, and I **hear** you when you listen to me...this beautiful melody on the edge of sound. I thought all feeling, all emotion, all hope lost to me, and you have awakened it. And I want...I want...I want to do the same for you."_

_There are tears in my eyes now, tears from the pained eloquence of her words, the humility and beauty of her wants. And yet, I cannot escape the fear that hounds me, the knowledge that I have listened to sweet declarations before...and found them naught but poisoned lies._

_"Then why," I ask, "why have you not taken what you desire?"_

_**Is that not what desire does? What Marjolaine did? She took what she wanted, as everyone in my life has done...with no regard for my wants, desires, or wishes.**_

_Salem's brows lift and blood drains from her face. "Because it is not mine." She tells me. "And if you do not want as I want, or feel as I feel, what right have I to take, Leliana?"_

_**You would...** I stare at her, in awe... **you would give me the choice? You would leave me be if I asked? You would speak no more if I told you that I could not bear this? Why? Why would you give me so much? **_

_"Salem, I am...I do not know what to do. What to say. I am...I am afraid." I confide, hoping that she will know what to do as I am at a complete loss._

_"Can I show you, Leliana?" She asks, hesitant. "Can I show you...what I cannot find words for?"_

_**If I said no...if I said no, she would allow this to rest, lock away her feelings, and speak no further of it.** The realization shatters me and a peace steals over my fear. _

_"Yes." I breathe, not knowing what will happen, but trusting her._

_She keeps her arm about my waist, moving to stand in front of me. Her eyes do not move from mine and there are stars in them, gleaming, glittering, **singing**. Her hand reaches up and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. _

_"You are so beautiful." She whispers, and I shudder._

_She pulls me tighter to her, without urgency, without haste, without pressure, melding our bodies together and I feel my blood thicken and my heart pound with how well they **fit** against each other. Her eyes flit to my lips, but I do not see Marjolaine's hunger and cunning in them. Instead, they are lit with awe, struck with an expression of worship. _

_"Thank you, Leliana." She breathes, her words stunning me._

_Her lips press against mine, gentle, but purposeful. They are soft, sweet, and I taste the tang of blood from where they have been cut. Her touch is warm, tender, and her hand cups my cheek with reverence. Heat flows through my body, igniting my nerves, tearing down walls because this kiss demands **nothing.** _

_I wrap my arms around her body, tracing the musculature of her back beneath her shirt, feeling her strength. In spite of it, she trembles. I am afraid she will push for more, that her sweetness will become lust, and lust turn into force, but she does nothing, and continues to tremble. It takes me a moment to realize that Salem is shaking with **restraint.**_

_**But,** my body reads hers as her lips continue to press against mine, **she is not restraining herself from taking...she is instead holding back her desire to** **give** **.**_

_I return the kiss, abandoning fear, forgetting the lies, basking in this unadulterated outpouring of the purest emotion I have ever felt. I feel safe and secure as she pulls away, breathing heavily, her eyes burning with fire and her body still shaking._

_"That," She breathes, "is what I feel, Leliana. Forgive me...forgive me if it is not what you want."_

_**Salem...Salem...I have never known what such a thing is to even desire it for myself. So pure...so bright...so...so beautiful.**_

_"I...I do not know what to say." I find myself unwilling to move, unable to leave the heat and promise of her body._

_"Then say nothing." She smiles, a genuine smile that makes me go weak in the knees. "And sleep, and know that I wish you to dream of beautiful things. Take your time, search your feelings, and know that I am willing to wait, for however long you might ask."_

_**You are so kind, so lovely, so strong. I would not believe those words from any lips but yours. I pray I will have an answer for you soon...for I want that answer for myself as well.**_

_I leave her side and enter my tent, shaky, disoriented, feeling as though I could take flight. My lips are tingling, on fire, and craving more of the taste that still lingers on them. I collapse on my bedroll and stretch my aching muscles, drawing the blankets tight around me as exhaustion draws my eyelids down. And I dream of beautiful things..._

_...I dream of Salem Cousland._  

* * *

     I withdrew from the memory and looked at the face of my wife. Even though she was unconscious, I could see the pain stamped on her features. She shivered intermittently, but when I tried to pull the blanket up to cover her, the inconsequential weight of the cloth over her stomach caused her to moan in discomfort. Feeling useless, ragged, and terrible, I lifted her limp, weak left hand to my lips, and kissed it. 

     "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." I told her, trailing my finger over the delicate etchings of her wedding ring. "But please, Salem, _please_. Give me more than dreams."

     "Well," The silence shattered, the door opened, and an angel appeared, her white hair tied back, her blue eyes fierce with determination, "this brings back the most unpleasant of memories."

     "Wynne." I breathed a sigh of relief, falling into the senior enchanter's offered embrace. "I thought you'd never come. Thank the Maker you're here."

     The older woman frowned as she walked to the pegs on the wall and donned a healer's apron. "I would have been here sooner." Her voice quavered. "But we were behind locked doors, and the guards would allow no one to enter. I heard a commotion and a yell, but not the words. When I asked, they said that a servant had approached them blathering nonsense about needing all the mages." Her eyes narrowed and her lips trembled. "They believed it was someone sent to attempt to disrupt the meeting, and sent them away. If only I had pressed further, if only..."

     I knew Wynne's emotions, intimately. Since Varel's recounting of events, I could not help but run the scenario through my mind, over and over again. I kept thinking that, if I had been there, I would have seen through Esmerelle. I would have been ready for her betrayal. I would have been able to prevent Salem from being hurt...but those suppositions could not help me now. They did nothing but prolong my guilt and, worst of all, they did _nothing_ to help my wife.

     Wynne began her examination, her schooled expression softening into one of sorrow when she saw the placement of the bandages. "Oh, no." She breathed, a tendril of diagnostic magic spooling from her fingertips into Salem's arm. "Not her arm, not again."

     I tried to ignore the sinking feeling that pulsed through me. "Kathyra did what she could to mend the muscle. Will you...can you..."

     "I will do what I can, but muscle can only endure so much damage." Wynne shook her head. "She has taken so many injuries here; her arm might never regain its full strength, and this is the least of her injuries..."

     Wynne closed her eyes and sent her magic through Salem's body, assessing my lover's condition. The senior enchanter's magic would not harm Salem until Wynne began healing in earnest. The spells used to assess damage did not hurt her, for which I was beyond grateful. Wynne breathed deep as her magic returned to her and my fear rolled back in full force as her watery blue eyes opened...wet with tears.

     "My poor girl." She whispered, subdued. "I should have pressed my questions harder...I should have left that infernal meeting and come here...why did I not trust my instincts?"

     "Wynne," My knees shook so badly that I grasped the table to shore myself up, "Wynne, you are frightening me."

     Wynne's brow creased. "This is worse than what happened to her in Howe's dungeon, Leliana." She told me the unpleasant truth, as ever she had. "Now as then I can mend the injuries, but the infection she fought then is nothing compared...compared to sepsis. Salem is very weak...I do not know if she will have enough strength for the magic to use to heal her."

     I feared I would be sick yet again as the truth of Wynne's words sank deep and replayed in my thoughts. My voice trembled as I asked the all-important question.

     "Will you at least be able to...to mend the punctured intestine and undo the nerve damage?"

     I could not bear the thought of my strong, vibrant warden being lamed by an assassin's knife to the back. My lover had slayed demons, dragons, and a god, living to tell the tale and fight another day. For her to be brought low by a...by a simple political scheme was a ghastly, atrocious injustice.

     "I do not know." Wynne answered, her words striking me across the face, her tone conveying that she felt the same sorrow as I. "She is simply so weak, so ill...it is all her heart can do to keep beating."

     A radical thought sprung to my mind and I spoke before I ignored it as an impossibility. "Could you use my strength?" I asked. "Could you use your magic to take from my energy and impart it to her?"

     Wynne's eyes flared. "Such a thing has been attempted before." She told me. "With disastrous results. It takes a powerful mage, a great deal of concentration, and someone willing to risk...to risk everything. I have never seen it attempted in my time, only read about it in legends..."

     "I _know_ legends." I pushed, now dedicated to the course of action, willing to sacrifice _anything_ if it meant Salem would live. "They are often written wrongly, to keep knowledge out of the hands of the people, to stop actions that those in power fear being taken. Imagine if it _were_ possible, Wynne." I pressed. "Those with power would have even _more_ cause to fear mages. If they could save whatever life they desired by using another life? You remember Cailian's injuries from Ostagar?" I asked, and she nodded, recalling when we had returned and found the young king's mangled corpse. "Even if he had survived long enough to make it to the healer's tent, would you have been able to heal him?"

     "No." Wynne replied, her brow furrowed in concentration; her eyes narrowing in thought.

     "But if you could have taken another's strength, you might have been able to save Cailan's life. Would a man like Loghain Mac Tir, with his greed and machinations, allow knowledge of that capability into the world? Or would he skew the truth so that men of his ilk might seize power in traitorous ways?"

     "Your logic is sound." Wynne replied, looking to Salem, her expression filled with the same desperation that drove me. "I simply do not know if I am capable..."

     "If any mage exists that is, it is _you_." I stressed. "Because I remember the darkspawn trap. I remember our bodies being riddled with shrapnel and seared with flames. I remember your touch breathing life into us again, tethering our souls back into our bodies, your spirit making us whole once more. So, now, I beg you. Try. Take from me."

     After a long moment of consideration, Wynne nodded and I rejoiced. She bade me join her and I came to stand at her side. She took my left hand and held it out flat, aligning her own hand with it, fingertip to fingertip. I watched as, with great care, she did the same with Salem, connecting us with her own body.

     "I will attempt this, Leliana, but only if you promise me something."

     "Name it."

     "You must _never_ speak of this attempt, be it a success or failure, to _anyone_ but Salem." She adjured me, and I nodded. "You must understand that I can mend her injuries _only_. Magic, spirit within me or no, can do nothing for the poison in her blood." I nodded again, reconciling myself to the horrible truth. "And, in the spirit of honesty, there might be no sparing her from the nerve damage. Such a thing is best treated swiftly, and it has been over half a day since she was injured. We will only be able to ascertain if it has been healed if..."

     " _When_." I countered.

     " _If_ she wakes." Wynne refused to allow me to harbor delusion. "And, lastly, no matter your resolve, if you begin to feel too weak, or if you feel ill, if your heart skips, if your lungs ache, you must tell me _immediately_."

     "I promise." I said, for the first time lying to the elder mage. I did not care if I collapsed into eternal sleep if it meant that Salem would live.

     "Prepare yourself." Wynne cautioned me, her eyes glazing over as she slipped into a healer's trance.

     I braced myself against the table, keeping my hand aligned with Wynne's. I watched as a blue cord streamed from her fingertips on both hands. It wrapped around our joined hands, the end of the cord coalescing into a fine, razor point. I gritted my teeth as the cord wound its way around my upper arm, the razor point easing into the soft skin at the inside of my elbow.

     I gasped as I felt the magic's intrusion, a foreign entity slithering inside my skin. My heart began racing, my blood burned, and I began to feel heavy. My bones turned to lead and I gasped for air. I groaned and sagged against the table as an inexorable _pull_ tugged at me. My shoulders ached, reminiscent of the time in the dungeons when the chevaliers had chained my wrists and hung me by them above the ground. My own body weight began to suffocate me and my vision began to fog at the edges; I felt the warm summons of unconsciousness...

     Salem's screams dragged me back into awareness. Her eyes were open, her features contorted in abject agony. Her body shuddered and fear broke through my awareness when I saw her legs did not move. Fear turned to panic as I saw a fresh wash of red stain her bandages as she trembled.

     _No!_ I could not voice my thoughts. I did not have the strength. _No! She cannot lose more blood!_

     I lifted my free hand and struggled, reaching out, touching the only part of Salem's skin I could reach, hoping that she could feel it. Her screams of pain turned to incoherent sobs, her eyes were pinched closed, her head tossing and turning on the table as she fought through the anguish of healing. I pushed away my fear, thinking of nothing but my love of her, _willing_ her to feel it through my touch, believing that she could feel what I did not possess the energy to say aloud.

     _We will get through this. I will be beside you every step of the way. I am not leaving you, Salem. I will **never** leave you again. _

     I forced myself to breathe, to pull air into lungs that felt crushed. My breath came in agonized gasps and my mouth began to fill with saliva as nausea thickened the back of my throat. My knees buckled beneath the crushing weight of my own body and my hand slipped away from Salem's skin. Wynne's spell ended and the anchors of lead in my bones vanished. On my knees, I leaned against the stone table, fighting the nausea, losing the battle the instant Wynne's hand held out an empty basin.

     For the second time that day, I was violently ill. The room spun at the corners of my sight and I shivered, begging the Maker for mercy. Water once again appeared before me and I rinsed my mouth of acid and fear once more. The basin was set aside and Wynne appeared in my narrowing field of vision. Her eyes were filled with love and concern; her lips curved in a gentle smile, assuaging my fear.

     "It worked." She spoke the two most beautiful words in human history. "I was able to do much more than I would have been capable of otherwise. The internal injuries are mended, and, if the Maker is kind, I have managed to mitigate the damage to her nerves and spine. Only time will tell...but Salem will be much more capable of combating the illness...thanks to you, dear child."

     "Thank you." I spoke in words and prayer both, to Wynne and the Maker. I shivered again and realized that, while the room was not terribly cold, my breastband and shirt were drenched in sweat. A wave of exhaustion crashed over me and I struggled to focus my gaze on the senior enchanter. "I don't...feel well." I murmured.

     "You don't look it either." Wynne teased, but her tone was kind, even though I knew that she understated the truth. "Rest here for a moment. I will return."

     I listened to her footsteps, the sound of the door opening and closing, and I felt an inappropriate smile spread across my features. For the moment, it did not matter that my lover's life still hung in the balance, her fate uncertain. What _did_ matter was that we had cheated fate, that my actions had not been in vain, that what Wynne had done did, in fact, exist outside of folklore and legend.

     I ran my hand through my hair, finding it soaked. A delirious giggle slipped from my lips, followed by a sigh. I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and sleep. But I could not, not yet. I needed to see Salem. I could not rest until I felt her heartbeat and saw the rise and fall of her chest.

     The door opened again and there were more than one set of footsteps. I heard scuffles and scraping, Wynne's voice quietly issuing orders. Then, the door closed again and the senior enchanter appeared before me again, kneeling down.

     "I've had them bring a cot in for you." She told me and my heart swelled with gratitude. "You need sleep, but I knew you would not rest unless you were near Salem. Come now. Let's get you into bed."

     "Need to," My head rolled on my neck, landing on the stone with a thud, "see her."

     Wynne said nothing, merely offered me her hand. I grasped it and did my best to get myself to my feet. I swayed and found Wynne's arm around my waist, her shoulder supporting my head as she helped guide me towards Salem. My wife looked little better than she had before, and I struggled to keep my panic from resurgence. I should have been prepared for this.

     "She bled again." I could not speak above a whisper. "Was it...was it too much?"

     "More than I would have liked, but an acceptable loss." Wynne comforted me. "Better a little more blood lost than those injuries go untreated."

     I pulled away from Wynne, leaning heavily on the table. I fought to keep my balance as I leaned down, feeling the heat of Salem's breath wash onto my cheek, reassuring as a cleansing rain. I ghosted a kiss over her pallid, chapped lips.

     "Keep fighting, my love." I urged her. "A little longer. I will be waiting for you."

     Wynne reached out for me, pulling me into an embrace before guiding me to the cot that sat at the edge of the room, where I could see Salem. I slumped down onto the mattress and Wynne reached towards the foot of the bed, bringing back a soft brown shirt.

     "You can't very well sleep in that sweat-soaked thing." She spoke, words that I would imagine a mother saying to their child.

    She reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it up, helping me disentangle myself from the drenched cloth. Her weathered, healing hands removed my breastband next and, in my exhaustion, I illogically reached up to cover my breasts. She chuckled, low, warm notes.

     "No time to be modest, my dear." She winked at me. "It's nothing I've not seen before, many times."

     A breathy, mocking laugh slipped from me as I obeyed, moving my hands, doing my best to help Wynne redress me. The shirt at last slipped over my head and Wynne pulled it down, covering my skin and scars, warming me. A cup of fragrant, heated liquid found its way into my hand and I stared at it, confused.

     "It's ginger tea." Wynne smiled, guiding my shaking hands to my lips with her own firm grasp. "It should help settle your stomach. I've added some strength restorative herbs as well. You gave a great deal of yourself to her, my child."

     The cot, the shirt, the tea, and her words all melded together and became too much for me to bear. My emotions swirled together, becoming an ocean which escaped through my eyes, a rain of tears pouring forth yet again. I had no strength left. The strength that Kestrel, Rylie, and Kathyra needed aboard the ship, the strength that saw me through the difficult reunion with Salem, the strength that kept me on my feet...was gone. I had nothing but weakness and fear and sorrow.

     My tears flowed faster, unceasing in their onslaught, washing clean my fear and panic and pain as I let it envelop me. Wynne embraced me, guiding my forehead to her shoulder, her hand soothing up and down my back. I wept all the harder, for it was a mother's touch, and I so desperately needed a mother in this moment. I was a child, afraid, in the dark, uncertain of what fresh hell the next moment might hold.

     "It is okay." Wynne comforted me. "Bleed clean the wounds, my dear. There is no shame in fear, and no shame in grief."

     "What if she doesn't get well!?" I sobbed the question. "What if she cannot use her arm, or walk again, or...or...or what if...what if...what if she hates me so much for leaving her that she does not want me any longer?" My true fear came to light. "I _left_ her, Wynne!" I cried. "I _left_ her and nothing changed for her! Everyone still needed her, and she tried, and she suffered and sacrificed and she had _no one_ to help her and now she's...now she's... _it's **my** fault!" _

     Wynne tightened her arms around me, shoring me up. "It is not your fault, Leliana. The two of you were placed in an impossible position. The Divine is not a woman to be trifled with, and you made the only decision you could have that saw you and Salem both able to keep your freedom."

     "When I..." I choked past the sobs, "...when I saw...the Divine...they wanted me to take off my wedding ring. I did not let them but leaving...leaving her behind was...it was the same as..."

     "No." Wynne reassured me, her voice low, soothing. "No, it was not. Trust me, Leliana. I know what it is to truly abandon something. And, as much as I love her, Salem is not without her flaws, my dear. You have forgiven her, and I know that she has already forgiven you."

     Wynne said nothing more, simply allowing me to weep in her embrace until my tears were expended. I felt empty, hollow, and numb. My spirit and soul were drained of everything, and fine spasms worked through my muscles. I pulled away from Wynne, smiling into her shining eyes.

     "Thank you." I whispered, abashed. "For enduring my moment of weakness."

     Wynne pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and offered it to me. "If I had been blessed with daughters," Wynne spoke as I wiped away the remnants of my weeping, "I would have wanted them to be like you and Salem. The two of you are...very dear to me. Now," she sniffed and I saw tears of her own on her worn cheeks, "finish your tea, and get some sleep. I am going to kindle a fire so you do not get chilled."

     I nodded and finished the tea, grateful when the ginger did as Wynne promised, soothing the nausea that threatened to reappear. I set the cup aside, feeling my eyelids grow heavy. I sank down onto the mattress and listened to the crackling of flames. Before I allowed my eyes to close, I looked to Salem, beginning to worry again until I saw Wynne pull a chair from the corner of the room, sit down, and pull a book from the pocket of her robes. We could sleep tonight, and we would be watched over by a kind, pure soul.

     _Thank you,_ I prayed within my thoughts. _Thank you, dear Maker, for the kindnesses of this day. Please, continue to show your grace. I...I love her so much. Please, keep Salem strong._


	21. Promises

**Salem**

     All that registered was gnawing pain...and dreadful, stifling heat. Liquid fire faced through my veins and I heard a low, keening moan...from between my own lips. My throat was raw and I tasted blood thick in my mouth. My eyes flashed open, feeling as though salt had been poured into them. There was a bit of light in the room for the window, and I wondered how much time had passed since Esmerelle's knife entered my skin as my eyes slammed shut, unable to bear even the faint light.

     _I remember...I remember seeing Leliana...I told her I loved her...does this...does this mean I lived, then? That I escaped from that dungeon of torment?_

     "Salem?" I heard a blessed voice, and a warm hand took mine. "Salem, are you awake?"

     I squeezed her hand, clinging to her, anchoring myself in her, biting back the pain burning through my body. I struggled to accept the agony, the fire, knowing that it was dragging me across the blurry line between life and death. Wherever I had been, I knew that I wanted to be here, with her, where I could hear her voice. I wanted to stay awake.

     "Can you open your eyes, my love?" She whispered, pressing her lips to my cheek. "Can you open your eyes? I am here with you."

     "Her wounds look much better." I heard a voice equally as dear to me, my mage-mother, Wynne.

     "Is she still in danger?" Leliana asked, and I could hear the weariness and fear in her tone.

     "I am afraid so." Wynne did not conceal the truth, and Leliana's hitched breath made my heart despair. "But you bought her time, and the ability to recover fully. Your physician friend's herbs are well chosen, and will soon be finished brewing. You know as well as I do that this is often a death sentence, but Salem has a chance, Leliana."

     "I cannot imagine this table is conducive to rest." Leliana murmured, her hand stroking across my brow. "Would it...would it be possible to move her to a bed?"

     I felt the cold of the stone table beneath me and nearly wept with the knowledge that Leliana worried over my comfort...even after everything I had put her through. What, if I understood Wynne correctly, I continued to put her through even now. Nothing but trials and worry and heartache.

     _I have been so unfair...so selfish. How foolish was I to believe that I could carry everything myself, that I could let her leave without protest. I **need** her, I **love** her, and I want to be a source of her happiness, not a constant cause of sorrow. _

     "Not at the present moment." Wynne replied. "Not until I am confident that the damage to her spine and nerves is well-mended. Until then, I am afraid that she must be kept still."

     "Salem?" I heard Leliana whispering my name. Her voice sounded raw and scratchy, as though she had been screaming...or weeping. "Love?"

     _Damn it, woman!_ I cursed myself. _Open your bloody eyes!_

     Fighting the fire, the discomfort, and the exhaustion, I pulled my eyelids open, gazing into the radiant blue of a fathomless ocean. My wife's eyes smiled, but I saw deep sorrow within them and I despised myself, knowing I was its causation.

     "You're...so beautiful." I murmured, smiling up at her, awed all over again that _this_ woman had chosen to become my wife.

     Leliana ducked away, hiding her face from view as Wynne entered my vision. She brushed moisture from her eyes and pursed her lips, adopting the stern, healer's countenance that I knew all too well.

     "You've had us all quite worried, my dear." She spoke, and Leliana's hand tightened around my own. "And you are not yet in the clear. The bann's knife punctured your intestine and poisoned your blood, Salem. The physicians and I are doing all that we are able, but you must help us." She said, strict. "You are ordered to _rest_. No undo movement, no strain, and no _protestations_ that you are well enough to move. You will lie here and do _nothing_. Have I made myself clear?"

     "As...you say." I gasped as I struggled to breathe deeper, finding that the attempt made my chest and stomach burn as badly as when Esmerelle drove her blade into me.

     "Leliana, I must go and attend to the herbs." Wynne patted my wife on the shoulder. "I will speak with the Chantry sisters and see if anything might be found to make Salem more comfortable. And I believe the two of you need to speak...alone."

     With that, the senior enchanter left the room. I heard Leliana sniffling and knew that she wept. I loathed the knowledge that tears stained her cheeks; that grief gripped her heart...because of me. I did not want her to hurt because of me.

     "Leli?"

     She reappeared in my vision, her eyes wet with tears, ringed with the dark circles of exhaustion. Her face held no color; she was paler than I'd ever seen. Still, her beauty shone out to me, a radiant, living thing that I clung to, admired, and adored.

     "Can you...ever...forgive me?" I whispered, watching her lips tremble as more tears slipped from her eyes.

     "Salem, you're very ill." Her voice broke, choked off by a sob. "You shouldn't...this can wait. You..."

     "I wronged you." I forced my hand to move, reaching up and grasping the sleeve of her shirt, the sole thing I could reach. "I...never meant...to hurt you and in...in that...I...I closed myself off...to everything. I nearly...destroyed myself and I...I'm sorry."

     "Stop." She begged, taking my hand in both of hers and pressing her lips to it. "You...it is a close thing, still, Salem. You need to keep your strength. You have to get well. Please, do not harm yourself further by burdening yourself with this guilt."

     "Not...not guilt." I struggled to explain, even as pain fissured through my body and I coughed at the dryness of my throat. "Truth. I...I _love_ you, Leliana. I...I promise...it will be different, this time. I will...I will change. No more...seeking death. No more...hiding my emotions...no more...hurting you."

     Her eyes widened with realization, the realization that I had _always_ been true to my word; that the dark-hearted, grieving, hell-bent woman she had returned to would fade away. In the dark, I found life, I found truth, and, somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew I had seen the Maker, that we spoke, and that I had been heard. I was always heard...it was my own bitterness that drove away my ability to hear the reply.

     _I want to spend my time, however short it may be...I want to spend it in joy, in laughter, in **love**. Death can wait, for it is not peace, and it is not final, and I have been given such great gifts in this lifetime, gifts that I desire to hold close to me and cherish, not drive away with the darkness of my own heart. _

     "Do you promise." Leliana asked, a heartbreaking hope in her gaze.

     I removed my hand from hers and propped myself up on my elbows. Pain exploded in nauseating sparks, but I smiled. A _true_ smile, such as I had not experienced or offered since Leliana departed with the Seekers.

     "I swear it."

     Pressure built in my chest and I began coughing, hard and harsh and brutal, gasping for breath as pain from the stab wound ricocheted through my body. My spine burned, my arm ached, and my legs felt...cold and numb. My worry over that soon faded, as Leliana wrapped her arms around me, soothing her hand up and down my back until the coughing mercifully ceased. I leaned against her chest, shuddering attempt to breathe, hating that I could not take her in my arms and prove to her my promises.

     Leliana eased me back onto the pillow. "Wynne told you not to move, you _idiot!_ " She hissed, looking into my scarred eyes as her expression softened.

     "Forgive me?" I smiled again, wincing as my stomach began to burn with an intensity that, after a moment, did not fade. I gritted my teeth, but could not bite back the moan that slipped out.

     "Rest." Leliana placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Please, rest. There is no Blight to weigh upon your shoulders." Her thumb stroked across my cheek. "No desperation clawing you across the country. You're sick, in need of rest and care. Please, let me care for you."

     "You...you look tired." I protested, not caring about myself. She looked drained of life and color; I wanted her to rest, to easy the lines of worry from her face.

     "Watching your wife battle with death is rather stressing." She mitigated the harshness of her words with a radiant smile. "And I could not possibly rest while you are in obvious pain."

     I opened my mouth to argue...stopped.

     _This is the beauty of my revelation. I...I **cannot** keep forcing myself to pretend strength. I am human; I am vulnerable. I can accept love; I can **accept** forgiveness...and I can accept...I can accept that I am weak, and in need of care. _

     "As you say."

     Comfort filled me as her hand stroked through my lank hair, as her eyes gazed into mine, brimming with emotion. "How badly are you hurting, dearest?" She asked, full of love and concern.

     "Somehow...worse than...after Drakon." I managed to confess, without pretense, loathing the alarm that fired in her eyes.

     "I'm so sorry." She whispered. "So sorry that this happened, that I was not with you. That I have not _been_ with you."

     "That...no longer matters." I felt time melt away to nothing, grievances and bitterness wash away. "Past...is past. Let us...begin anew. Please?"

     "Yes." She leaned down and placed a tender kiss on my lips. "We will begin anew. Focus on recovering, fighting this illness. The woman who betrayed you will walks free, and I fear, if she discovers that you live, she will attempt to rectify her mistake."

     "Do not worry for that." I knew, within my heart, that I would survive. And then, Esmerelle would be dealt with. "It will...be resolved."

     Leliana moved out of my sight and I craned my head to see her, ceasing as the stretching caused the wound in my belly to throb. I hissed and instinct force me to curl up protectively around the wound. I felt a prickle of fear at the back of my neck when my legs did not move. I saw the bloodstained bandage around my thigh and reached down, pressing over the bloodstain, where the throwing disc had struck. My mouth went dry when I felt nothing, not even the pressure.

     _Oh, Maker no. I cannot...this cannot...what sort of a thing is this to **do** to Leliana, your **servant,** your **prophet!?** A lame wife!? You would put her through that misery and trial!? _

     "Salem?" I heard something being set down by my head. "Salem, what is it? What's wrong?"

     Slow, agonizing, I straightened, a pained moan breaking free of my lips. Even the small movements left me breathless, gasping for air. This pain was different than any other I'd known. It was bone deep, fiery, and even lying still did not make it abate. Leliana rested her hand on my forehead and I moaned in relief. Her skin felt like ice, beautiful and refreshing. I sighed in relief and Leliana's brow creased in worry.

     "Maker's blood." She whispered. "You're burning alive. Here."

     She cradled my neck, the temperature of her hand a blissful reprieve from the fire. A cup of cool water appeared at my lips and I drank in small sips, mindful of the blood I had lost. The last thing I desired was to worsen my condition by drinking too much too quickly. I finished drinking and Leliana moved the cup away and began bathing my brow with a soaked cloth. It felt like heaven against my skin.

     "Thank you." I murmured. "I am sorry...to be...such an inconvenience."

     "I am beginning to think I should have been a physician." My wife smiled down at me. "Given that I have done naught but tend the sick and injured the last week."

     There was a note of humor in her tone, but I could see a darkness in her eyes, and it concerned me. I knew that darkness; had witnessed it in the Frostback Mountains before...before she left me. It was the look of one who had endured too much, whose heart could bear no further worry or concern, whose eyes were too filled with suffering.

     "Leliana," I reached up and touched her hand. "How bad? Truly?"

     "That you are conscious right now is...is miraculous." She whispered, concealing nothing. "You lost a dangerous amount of blood, Salem...that alone almost killed you. Then the...Maker...the throwing knife to your back struck your spine. Kathyra and Wynne both spoke of nerve damage...can you feel your legs?"

     I did not want to frighten her; she looked so afraid already, but I made a promise. No longer to lie. No longer to hide. To give her everything of me, including the sorrow and the pain and the horror. This was a new beginning for us, and I would not fail so soon.

     "No." I breathed, watching her eyes tighten and her lips narrow.

     "Wynne said it might take time." Leliana whispered, pulling my hand to her lips and kissing it. "So there is still hope. It has been only a day, after all. And that will not matter at all if...if your infernal fever does not break. It has only climbed higher since last night."

     She reached out and rested a single fingertip on my abdomen, applying the slightest bit of pressure. I cried out as the pain of her touch radiated through my entire body. My hands trembled and my breathing caught; my heart stuttered in my chest. Leliana bit her lip and pinched her eyes shut, struggling to collect herself.

     "I don't..." I gasped, "...understand. Why..."

     "Blood poisoning." Leliana explained. "The acute pain is the second stage." She reached for my wrist, measuring the flow of blood. "Your pulse rate is low, and faint. If...if something does not change and the infection persists...your organs will begin to fail...and there is...there is..."

     "Leliana," I took her hand in mine, "do not cry, dear heart. We have weathered harsher storms. I'm still..." I struggled to inhale, "...still here."

     "And you will remain here, if I have anything to do with it." Wynne announced as she entered the room. She held a pitcher in her hands, filled with a steaming liquid. Her kind eyes lit on Leliana. "I spoke with your physician friend, my dear." She said. "And must confess, I wish that healer mages received her same training. It would be invaluable, and give us a larger arsenals than the spells alone. I admit that I have studied herbs and plants in great detail, but Kathyra's studies far outstrip mine. She believes this will help, and so do I."

     Wynne offered a cup to Leliana, and once again my lover helped raise my head so that I could drink. I stared at the drink, taken aback by the odd film covering it.

     "Dare I ask?" I struggled to lighten the dark atmosphere.

     "It is mold." Wynne smiled. "From spoiled melons in the kitchens. Kathyra told me of a physician who believed it was exceedingly effective in combating infections, even sepsis."

     "Wynne," Leliana's tone hardened. "I do trust Kathyra in matters of healing, and you moreso, but is this truly the time for an experimental treatment? Did this mythical physician even have a name?" I could hear her anger, and knew it stemmed from fear, and I loathed being the cause of that fear.

     _Leliana, I am sorry. Sorry that I did not sense that Esmerelle would betray me, sorry that I went to the Keep without you, I am...I am the worst excuse for...for anything. I do not deserve to be your wife. You are worth more. You are worth someone better than I_.

     "She spoke of a Giselle." Wynne answered, and Leliana's countenance changed.

     "Drink it." She urged me, a small smile quirking her lips. "I am certain it will taste atrocious."

     I drank the concoction, spluttering at the taste. It was slimy, vile, and smelled of putrescence and death. I choked it down, praying that it would not make a reappearance. I finished the dreadful tonic and gagged, fighting the urge to bring it back up. Wynne quickly replaced the cup with something that smelled sweet and fragrant, offering it to me. I took a sip, rinsing the wretched taste from my mouth.

     Leliana eased me back down to the pillow and I gasped for air, my chest and abdomen throbbing with every inhale. The cool cloth returned, bathing my fevered skin, and I sighed with relief. Wynne frowned and looked to my wife, her expression darkening.

     "There are poultices I would like to use as well." Wynne spoke, quiet. "To fight the infection on all fronts, through the blood. I will have to remove the bandages and perhaps break the scabs. It is going to hurt her."

     Leliana's face blanched. "Has she not been put through enough pain already?"

     "Leliana," I became irritated with them speaking as though I were not awake. "I can bear it."

     Her lips quivered and her eyes welled with love. "I am tired of you being hurt." She whispered. "I am tired of everything we do not being enough."

     "I know." I reached up, threading my hand into her hair. "I know, dear heart."

     Leliana pressed a kiss to my brow and gazed at me with tender eyes, then looked to Wynne, pleading. "Can it wait?" She asked. "Can you wait until she falls asleep?"

     The elder mage's expression filled with sorrow and compassion. I knew that she hurt for both of us, watching this, doing all that she could to help, knowing that Leliana's heart suffered as much as my body.

     "Yes." She nodded, and my wife turned back to me.

     "Try to sleep?" She stroked her fingers through my hair. "Escape the pain, my love. For both our sakes."

     "Can you," I closed my eyes, as she wished, "sing to me? I...I've missed your voice."

     She continued wiping sweat from my brow and a gentle, soft melody filled the air, a lullaby in a language I could not understand, but that did not matter. It was an angel's voice, an angel's gift, and I had never been so blessed as I was now...in this moment.


	22. A God's Guarantees

**Leliana**

     _Where have you been, my darling wife?_ I wondered as I watched Salem's brow crease with dreaming. _What brought you back to me? The woman I saw in your eyes...she was so full of light, so full of love, in spite of illness and injury...she was the woman I remember leaving behind, the woman who has been my strength and shield and protector. The woman who showed me true kindness, true beauty, who healed my heart._

     I washed the sweat from her brow, wishing that it would soothe the crease of pain between her eyes. I remained in the room, but could not bear watching Wynne as she removed the bandages and applied the poultices. It hurt too much to see fresh blood staining my lover's skin. And, loathe as I was to admit it, no matter how much I loved Salem, there were times it was difficult to look upon her scars. Not because they were a deformity, but because the sight of them could bring a resurgence of memories of when those wounds were made...and they were unpleasant memories.

     "Welcome back, my love." I whispered, not caring that she would not remember my words; that she did not witness my unguarded emotion. "You have been sorely missed. I cannot imagine your pain, but I am glad...glad that you chose not to escape it forever."

     "She wanted nothing more than to return." A soft voice rang behind me and I turned, falling to my knees as silver eyes caught the light of the setting sun and smiled at me.

     The Maker's lithe form drew close to Salem, and her gentle, delicate fingers traced over my lover's face. Her hand reached out, her fingers whispering across the vivid scar on Salem's cheek. Her silver eyes filled with compassion, so powerful it glittered like the stars that guided our way.

     "She simply could not find her way." The beautiful, heart-shaped lips trembled in an expression of great grief. "I sent her to walk through such a darkness, enamored by the fire of her heart and the light of her beliefs. But every strength has it weakness in equal measure, and I...I had forgotten." She admitted. "I had forgotten that even the strongest mortal heart can grow weary."

     I watched, in awe, as the Maker looked to the sky. I could not believe that she was here, standing bodily among her creations, speaking to me. Her voice echoed in the room, stirring and soothing, resonating within my heart like the beating of of a drum.

     "Perhaps," She continued, "perhaps, Leliana, it is not Andraste that failed. Perhaps, I, in my disenchantment and sorrow, failed her."

     My heart thundered in my chest as I saw the grief of a god in full measure, a god so part and parcel with us that witnessing her grandeur and sorrow devastated me. I ached within my very soul, knowing that, when I saw her heart shining out from her eyes, I saw the selfsame emotions that worked and moved within my spirit. Tears fell from my eyes, called forth by the depth of grief in the Maker's gaze.

     "Do not say such a thing." A prayer fell from my lips as I rose to my feet, at last able to stand, in spite of the awe and grandeur of her presence. "You are the Maker, our creator, and our guide and...and it is we who have failed you."

     "I do hear the prayers from mortal lips." The Maker shook her head, indigo curls swaying forth and back. "The cries and supplication. The Chantry says that when true faith returns to the hearts of all mankind, then at last I will return and walk among them." She laughs and it is the sound of cracking rocks. "Little did they know that it would but take the faith and love of two beautiful, mortal souls."

     I sat there, mute, unable to force my thoughts into cohesion, unable to speak in the face of a god in mortal form, flesh and blood, standing tangibly before.

     "You chose her." The Maker observed, turning from Salem to look me direct in the eye, unwavering. "After I set you in a place of power and set in your hands the tools to evoke change throughout Thedas, you chose her. Would you explain why, Leliana?"

     I raised my hands in supplication, shuddering as I realized how grave a penalty I might have to pay for what I had decided. "Do you not already know my every thought, my Maker? Surely you can see...and understand."

     "I want to hear it in your words." She stated, but her voice held no anger, no harshness, and no judgement.

     "I..." I inhaled, deep, attempting to form my thoughts, to speak as passionately and eloquently as I could...to persuade the heart of a god. "...She has given me everything, my Maker. All that you saw in me and found worthy, she either built within me or restored from the rubble of what harsher hands demolished. I owe her my life, and my sanity, and my faith, for only in her have I witnessed a love that achieves the level of what you have relayed to me as your wish for this earth. Forgive my mortal wants and desires, my Maker, but I wished only to return to her what gifts she has given me, and if desiring to love is a sin, then perhaps you might rethink your wishes for our world."

     I rose to my feet, strengthened by the resolve of my own words, the beliefs that pounded in time with the blood in my veins. "If I have failed you, let me make my regret known." I spoke, feeling fire in my spirit and sparks in my soul, for my choice had been made. "But I will not leave her. I intend no disrespect, but you have a true eternity to see your will made manifest. She," My voice cracked as I gazed upon my wife, "she does not have that eternity. She has little time left in this world, and I want to spent it at her side. So, whatever punishment you desire to mete, I will accept it, as your humble servant."

     I closed my eyes, awaiting her edict, awaiting divine judgement for turning my back on a holy calling and title. My heart, however, felt light. I knew that, for myself, my conscience, and my love, I made the right decision. To stay by her side, whether she did not recover from this illness, or whether she surpassed the odds and lived the warden's thirty years. I belonged with her, no matter what.

     "Ah, the beauty of the mortal heart." The Maker whispered, but even that rang as thunder in my ears. "Its strength; the capability to defy even a god. You have not angered me, Leliana, nor do I desire to cast upon you any form of punishment. I asked Andraste to abandon a mortal love for me, and though she promised and attempted to follow through, she never fully gave me her heart. I will not suffer the loss of another love, another prophet, another hope for my children. You have chosen well, Leliana, though the puppet Cassandra, who speaks for Beatrix, who proclaims to define me, will attempt to convince you otherwise. Do not be dissuaded, my child. This is my gift to _you_ , so that you will know my promises and dreams made flesh, so that your words might ring with further truth when you carry them to mortal ears. I have but one request."

     "Name it." My throat ached with unexpressed emotion and my heart ached with such a ferocity that I thought I might burst.

     "Love her _well_." The Maker cast a fond glance on Salem, filled with a mother's eternal love and grief. "I...I have let her remain broken for far too long. And though she held me away with the force of heavens colliding, I...I have wronged her. Perhaps, now, things can be set aright. Perhaps, Leliana, this is the first of my mistakes that you can remedy."

     "As...as you say." I wiped tears from my face, but could not resist speaking further. "But I...I might not have time. She is fading, my Maker. The infection is taking a toll, weakening her. I am...I am afraid for her."

     The Maker reached out and placed a delicate, almost translucent hand on my wife's forehead. "She burns." The god spoke, gentle. "But she fights. Brave warrior. There are so few of your kind left."

     The Maker leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Salem's forehead. My lover's body went completely still, then her chest rose and fell in a deep breath, the first I'd seen her take since she was injured. The Maker smiled at her and turned to me.

     "She will live." The Maker spoke to me, and my knees threatened to give out with relief. "The battle is not over, but it will be won."

     I parted my lips to speak, to thank my god, but she vanished in a burst of light as the sound of an opening door greeted my ears. I remained frozen, listening to the sound of footsteps, at last regaining the balance I needed to move without falling.

     "Lady Cousland?" I turned to face Seneschal Varel. At the sight of my face, he backed away, his eyes filling with concern. "Is all well? Have I come at an inopportune time?"

     "N...no." I regained full control of my voice, though my mind spun in a chaotic whirl.

     "How," Varel looked past me to Salem, "how is the arlessa? Is she going to recover?"

     I walked to Salem, watching the rise and fall of her chest, rhythmic and deep for the first time. I held my breath and reached out, resting my hand on her forehead. My throat tightened as I felt the normal temperature of her skin beneath my touch. The bright fever flush across her cheeks was gone, replaced by the the pallor of blood loss. I knew, with absolute assurance, that the Maker had taken the infection. That my wife's blood was clean.

     "Yes." I replied, overjoyed that there was good news to give the man who so obviously cared for her life. "By the Maker's grace." He would never know the literal nature of my words. "She is sleeping, now, and I've no wish to wake her. Is there anything I might help you with?"

     Varel looked down, brushing a wayward, downy feather from his shoulder. He sighed and seemed to become younger before my very eyes as relief washed over him.

     "I have spent the entire day sending messenger birds forth and back to Denerim, apprising King Alistair of the situation here." The man informed me, his shoulders slumping in a world-weary expression. He pulled extended a rolled parchment out to me. "I inquired if I was able to order Esmerelle brought to justice without any true evidence, and the king replied that if Salem named Esmerelle her attacker, that her word served as evidence enough in his eyes."

     "As well it should." I pursed my lips, dreading to think of my wife's would-be assassin, alive and jailed for months until her trials.

     "I wholeheartedly agree." Varel smiled, handing me the parchment. "This is a Writ of Execution, signed and sealed by the king's own hand."

     I opened the scroll and read the death sentence, smiling at Alistair's familiar, decidedly un-kingly scrawl at the bottom of it.

     _Some things will never change. The man may be every inch a king, but his penmanship will always be nothing less than ridiculous and desultory._

     "This seems well in order." I handed it back to the seneschal, wondering why worry lines creased his forehead. "What is it that troubles you?"

     "Esmerelle is the bann of this very city." Varel frowned. "she has at least a hundred loyal knights at her command, not to mention the support of many of the lesser vassals, and the fear of others who know of her murder of Guy. They will offer her what protection they can. Our resources are simply spread too thin, and Salem is obviously not well enough...and she is the sole one who could storm Esmerelle's gates and hope for success. If I attempted to enact this writ, it would be a massacre."

     I bit my lip as a crafty smile crossed my face. "There is to be no trial?" I looked to the seneschal for confirmation.

     "None." Varel shook his head. "Salem's blood is on her hands. The bitch is dead, as far as I am concerned."

     _Salem would have my head if I took matters into my ow hands...but she would never defy the written edict of Alistair, her friend and king. And justice must be done swiftly, lest these upstarts think they have a chance of success_.

     "Give me the writ." I said, extending my hand, into which Varel placed the parchment. "And worry about this no further. I shall see to the handling of this matter."

     "Milady, are you certain?" He asked, his blue eyes widening.

     "As ever I have been." I assured him. "If I have not returned by the time she wakes, simply inform her of King Alistair's decree. She will be able to complete the picture."

     "Of course, milady." Varel gave a curt bow from the waist and I slipped into the shadows, headed towards my small room and the tools I would need for this particular venture.

     _The gift of my lover's life and the gift of justice. I am a twice blessed woman this night._

     In spite of my exhaustion, the lingering after-effect of Wynne's spell, blood began thrumming fever hot in my veins. A song once despised, I now embraced. For love made all things, even those tainted with dark memories, new again...and welcome.


	23. Confessions in the Dark

**Salem**

     "Maker's blood-soaked breath." An Orlesian accent cut through the haze of my waking coherence. "It is a miracle."

     I opened my eyes to see, through the dim moonlight, a woman I recognized from a night of great pain...much like this one. Only, on that night, my flesh had not been torn; my blood had not been spilled. No. My still beating heart had been torn from my chest and placed on a pike. But that no longer mattered. I had been willing to forgive fate...but not my past...not until now.

     "Arlessa Cousland." She looked into my eyes, then flashed away.

     I mustered a weak grin. "I thought I told you, when first we met, that you would win no love from me by use of titles. What brings you here, Kathyra?"

     She shook her head. "Somehow, I expected more heat behind that question, even in your current condition...which is much improved. Your fever has broken and your heart rate stronger and less erratic. Your breathing is better too, still shallow, but I imagine that is because it hurts to inhale too deeply, what with the puncture to your abdomen."

     I eyed her hand, which rested protectively over her own injury. "I believe you would know as well as I." I shifted, biting back a groan as fire shot up my side. "Should you not be resting?"

     She smiled...a grin I recognized from somewhere...a long-distant memory buried in a haze of blood and pain and torment.

     "I ate, drank, took some herbs for the pain and slept the whole day through." Kathyra told me, moving aside the layer of blankets that had managed to appear in between my odd, brief periods of consciousness. "And I thought I had best come and check on my patient."

     _Your physician friend_...Wynne's words to Leliana echoed in my thoughts and I gazed at the Seeker yet again, remembering the casual calm with which she had worn armor, the strength with which she had stayed a swordsman's hand. She did not seem the type given to a study and love of healing.

     _But, upon a time, I would never have been able to visualize myself as a Grey Warden. Who am I to ascertain what does or does not drive a soul? For, at one time, I pushed myself forward with duty, only later to continue along that path for the sake of love. I am, in some perverse way, grateful that my blood became tainted. Without that, I would never have met Leliana. I would never have known what it was to love._

     "Then it would seem," I lifted a shaking hand out from beneath the covers and extended it, "that I owe you my life, Seeker Kathyra. And I thank you for it."

     "You owe me nothing." She shook her head and lowered my hand with a gentle touch. "I cleaned your wounds, did a bit of stitching, and brewed some herbs. That is nothing compared to...compared to aiding in the taking of what did not belong to us and, since that time, walking roads I have no right to travel."

     "You saved lives that night, Seeker." I rested my head against the pillow as a familiar ache pulsed between my temples. "Mine, Leliana's and the High Seeker's. If you still consider such an action a crime, then I offer my forgiveness, for what little it might be worth."

     Her eyes flashed to mine, a brilliant shine in the dark green that I did not recognize. "The two of you..." She muttered, slicing deftly through the bandages wrapped around my torso without breaking skin...a difficult skill to master. "...are simply unfathomable. In truth, arlessa..."

     "Salem." I corrected, gentle. "Wynne named you Leliana's friend. If you have, in truth, shown her kindness, the least I can offer you is my name."

     "I...I have shown her what kindness I am able." The physician's voice lowered with grief as her deft hands took the edges of the bandaging around my midsection, pulling away the cloth. I hissed in pain as it came free. "But that is a discussion for another time, when both of us are in better health. Maker, this looks nasty."

     Kathyra splayed her hand over my stomach and pressed down. I flinched and hissed my pain out through clenched teeth, but the pressure soon faded. Gentle, Kathyra eased the edges of the wound apart, removing the poultice Wynne placed there, and tossing the spent herbs into the fire, using the old bandaging to stanch the fresh blood seeping from the wound. She murmured something inaudible under her breath. 

     I waited in silence as she continued her examination of my body and, in the meanwhile, examined her. The expression of worry on her features changed to one of awe as her hands and eyes scrutinized my other injuries. Intermittently, her hand would come to rest on my forehead and she would purse her lips in concentration and puzzlement.

     "Well, Madame Physician?" I rasped. "What is your verdict?"

     She shook her head. "Your injuries look a week old, instead of fresh. You have no trace of fever, no signs of infection...this should not be possible. As much as I respect the senior enchanter, she does not have the power to...to do this." Kathyra smiled. "Not that I am angered, I just...wish I knew. How are your legs?"

     The nagging worry at the back of my mind reappeared, and my thoughts produced a grim future...Leliana chained to a lamed former warrior, a woman good for nothing, unable to walk for herself, do for herself...unable to love as a wife should be capable of.

     "They feel...cold." I murmured. "And, not for lack of trying, I cannot seem to make them move."

     Kathyra frowned. "If you truly feel them to be cold, that is a good sign. I..." She tucked her ash-blonde hair behind her ear, "...I am surprised you are alive. The bitch pulled the blade out of your abdomen purposefully, and the time it took to travel here...your blood was poisoned, toxins rife in your blood stream. You should have gone into septic shock well before the mage appeared. You should be dead, Salem."

     _If only you knew, Kathyra, how close I ventured once more to that peaceful, bleak edge. That the scars in my eyes have deepened with repeated looks into eternity. I am amazed that anyone can hold my gaze for even a moment...much less that Leliana can still look upon me with love. I am...perhaps not quite mortal any longer, but somewhere, suspended between life and its ending...determined to finish the tale...driven by love._

     "I should have died many times." I whispered, closing my eyes against the pain as the Seeker continued to assess my condition, probing my legs, disconcerting me further as I felt nothing from her touch.

     "I...I know." Her voice caught in her throat. "Maker's blood, the scarring alone..." She thought aloud, to herself, before addressing me. "Forgive my forthrightness, Salem, but...but I have never seen such horrors on a human body. A physician's hands know broken bones...your ribs, your breastbone, your leg. I have witnessed victims of torture; I have repaired the flesh of a thousand wounded knights and prisoners of war, and still I have never seen such a landscape of damage."

     I laughed, breathy, still unable to breathe deep. "I have lived a life no knight could countenance. And I have suffered in its living. I have been scorched by dragon's flames, bathed in the blood of a tainted god, torn by the swords of fallen heroes, and, most recently...betrayed by one who swore fealty to my leadership."

     "You lead a hauntingly charmed life, or so it would seem." Kathyra removed the blanket that covered my feet and I watched her trace a line down the bottom of my foot. "Can you feel this at all?" She asked.

     She continued the motion and I closed my eyes, focusing all of my attention. I restrained bitter tears as all of my concentration resulted in nothing.

     "No." I murmured, desperate to give another answer, a better answer, an answer that would mean I did not risk being a burden to the woman I loved. "No, I cannot."

     Kathyra sighed. "You seem as a woman who appreciates honesty, and therefore I will give you the truth." Kathyra replaced the blanket. "Your recovery is nothing short of miraculous, but the damage done to your body was severe. You should not have even been able to continue fighting after that knife to the back and yet, somehow, you did. There _is_ a chance that you will regain the use of your legs. Magic can mend bone and nerves, but it does take time. In hopes that you do heal, you must remain as still as possible...and the reason for your lack of a comfortable resting place."

     "I have no need of creature comforts." I winced as the initial sting of the salve faded into a deep burn. "This stone table is a far better resting place than the floor of the Deep Roads or Rendon Howe's fetid dungeons. I am quite content."

     "You've been enduring all of this, and asked for nothing to mitigate pain." Kathyra muttered. "Leliana told me that you were inhuman, but I thought it to be a lover's over-exaggeration...I see now I was wrong. The two of you are far beyond anything the legends have written."

     "But we will have no legend, Kathyra." I reached out and touched the physician's hand with my own scarred one, drawing her gaze toward my eyes. "In what tales are the heroes scarred so badly a physician hurts from the sight? In what stories are the eyes of a savior so mutilated that they inspire fear? I am...but a story that will fade. Leliana...Leliana is another matter entirely. She will live on...a large, expansive life that defies human comprehension."

     The physician's expression changed, from confusion to understanding and sorrow. "I know...but when we leave, she will not depart with us."

     Hope surged in my heart, the increased beating of it sending pain in dizzying shockwaves across my body. "Has she...has she confided to you as much?"

     "No." The physician brought her hand to her eyes, wiping away tears I could not see. "No...but Leliana is not the sort to abandon her heart. And that...that is you. Inasmuch as I wish it could be in Val Royeaux...Maker's breath, the lives she has changed already, but...she deserves a home. A life..."

     I watched Kathyra's brow crease in very real pain and I realized...I realized the reason for her tears, for the sorrow in her eyes and grief in her voice. The knowledge was dizzying, and I had to speak to it.

     "You..." I spoke, "...the sole reason you helped me..."

     "Yes." She nodded, confirming my suspicion. "I understand if you cannot forgive me for this, Salem, but..." Kathyra gathered her breath, and resolve, "...I am in love with your wife."


	24. Becoming the Trap

**Leliana**

_She is **good**. _

     I looked up at the bann's manse, simultaneously disgusted and impressed. That Esmerelle, only a bann, lived in a house larger than the Cousland teyrn; that she enjoyed constant heat and decadent food while her people froze and starved, appalled me to no end. However, I admitted to admiring the woman's...subtlety.

     _Most of the Orlesian fools, when learning of their victim's demise, would throw an extravagant party to celebrate their victory. It is not so with this woman...which can mean but two things. First, that Esmerelle truly did this out of some sort of misguided altruism and idealism. Or second, that Salem's death was not the endgame._

 _There is more afoot than it would seem._  

     "And, now, for the guards."

     I adjusted the Chantry robes that I had...borrowed...bowed my head as a proper sister should, and approached the massive, wrought-iron gate that led to Esmerelle's manse. Two spears crossed in front of me and I raised my eyes, knowing that the guards would see the face of a distraught young woman.

     "What might a Chantry sister want at this hour?" One of them asked in a gruff, whiskey-soaked voice.

     "I..." I kept my voice low, hiding traces of my accent, "...I have news for milady Esmerelle. I am certain, ser, that this communication was meant to come directly into her hands...but a hawk struck down a messenger bird over our gardens, and the Revered Mother found this tied to its foot." I held out the writ of execution, careful to let them see only Alistair's seal and signature. "I've not read it...but with the death of the arlessa...I thought it would be best to deliver this in person."

     _Present your reason, a plausible story, a taste of the truth...then snare them in the lie and achieve your goal._

     "Looks t'be the king's seal, all right." One guard looked to the other. "An' milady would want the information without delay. Give me the letter, sister, an' be off wi' you."

     I clutched the letter tight to my chest, pretending to tremble at their might and weapons. "I s...stole it from the Revered Mother. You know she hates Esmerelle, and I daren't let it out of my sight. Please, I intend the lady no harm, but this is important."

     "How do you know of the arlessa's death?" The more well-spoken guard's eyes narrowed at me.

     "They brought her body to the Chantry, and 'twas..." I took a deep breath, preparing to say words that were a consummate lie, that I could _never_ imagine speaking in truth, "...'twas a deed needed doing, ser. Our king is a Theirin proper, but Salem Cousland came to Amaranthine unblooded and untried, and, by the Maker's grace, Bann Esmerelle has saved us all."

     I wanted to spit the bitter taste of the lies from my mouth, but I could not, for one of the guards grasped me roughly by the arm and escorted me through the gates, across the grounds, up the stairs, and into the cold, dank air of Esmerelle's manse. I shivered as an ominous chill ran through me, a remembered horror. Most who dwelt in Orlais knew that walls had souls, energies gathered by the deeds done within them across the ages.

     _This is a dark place,_ I realized as the guard escorted me deeper into the manse, up the slick, stone stairway. _A place of torment, of torture...such places all have a kindred spirit, and I have felt this before. In Howe's Denerim estate...in the dungeons of Val Royeaux. And now...here. What is it that turns nobles into madmen? And how has Salem found herself immune?_

     The guard kept his hand on my arm, unaware that with an artful twist, I could break the bones in three places. I held Alistair's writ of execution closely against my chest, unwilling to let go of it, no matter how circumstances might change.

     The guard rapped on a heavy oaken door, and I could swear that I heard screams from behind it, voices of phantom pain and innocents who had suffered. So many. Too many.

     _Under Howe's rule,_ I fought the urge to clench my fists, unwilling to reveal any emotion, _so many suffered, and Salem was one of them. How could...how could Cailan have let such practices continue? By Salem and Alistair's descriptions both, he was not a **bad** man...perhaps, like many nobles, he was out of touch and ignorant. _

     "Milady Esmerelle," The guard spoke, "I've a sister from the Chantry, got a letter for you from the King."

     "Enter." An austere, authoritative voice rang from behind the door.

     The guard opened it and led me into an opulent room. Plush carpets covered the stone floors, and a hearth fire burned brightly, illuminating a wall hung with portraits framed in gold. A large, mahogany desk, wood from the islands inhabited by the qunari, difficult and _costly_ to procure, stood in the center of the room, its four giant legs capped in silver.

     _And this extravagance was held onto in the midst of the **Blight!?**_ My senses screamed. _A noblewoman was cast from wealth and power into ignominy and the harsh fate of tainted blood and you, you vipers, you vampires, you wretched, murderous **fiends** , stood back and did nothing! No matter their crimes most recent, all who remained like **this** should be executed for war crimes and high treason against the crown! _

     A woman rose from behind the desk, an inordinate mirth in her eyes, her hair severely tied back, and a glass of celebratory wine in her hand. She glanced to the guard and flicked a dismissive finger.

     "You may go." She said in a haughty, imperious voice, with none of the roughness that I attributed to a Ferelden accent.

     The guard departed, leaving me alone with the woman who had driven her blade into Salem's body and stranded her on death's door. The woman who now drank in celebration of my wife's supposed demise. I wanted to smash the crystal goblet and slit her throat with the stem.

     "Well do not just stand there like a sniveling deaf-mute, sister." Her words cracked across stone and carpet like a whip. "Deliver your missive and go."

     "O...of course, milady." I strode forward, keeping my head lowered, extending the writ in a hand that I forced to tremble.

     She snatched it out of my hand and lowered the flap, revealing the king's seal. She did not open it further, instead glaring at me down her hawk-like nose.

     "Pray tell me how such an important document fell into your hands?" She asked, lifting an accusatory brow.

     "An unfortunate coincidence, milady." I explained. "The king's messenger bird was felled by a hawk above the Chantry gardens. With...with the arlessa dead, the Revered Mother intended to destroy the document. I...I stole it from her and came straightaway to deliver it to you, as you are the most powerful noble remaining in Amaranthine."

     A smile curled her thin, churlish lips as my words stoked her pride and appealed to her perception of how her people viewed her. She tipped her crystal goblet back and drained the rest of her wine.

     "I always _was_ the most powerful noble in Amaranthine, no matter what that ill-fated whelp might have thought herself. Hero of Ferelden...ha!" She scoffed, and my heart burned with wrath. "The stories are but stories...a warrior who could slay a dragon while blind _and_ fell a god would _not_ fall prey to the machinations of a mere _bann_ , would she, sister?"

     I knew that she did not expect an answer, as she turned her attention fully to the writ, her face paling as she read the order for her execution, not the elevation of position she had expected. She turned to me, her eyes alight with wrath and a taste of her own tincture...betrayal.

     " _What,_ " She demanded, " _is the meaning of **this!?** " _

     I raised my head, shattering the disguise of a diminutive Chantry sister. "That," I spoke, with my true voice, "is a writ of execution, signed by the king's own hand. And my role, in this _funny_ little play," I smiled, a jovial, nonchalant grin, "is that of your executioner."


	25. The Curse of Knowing the Heart

**Salem**

     I heard Kathyra's confession and waited for the shock, the surprise, perhaps even for a flare of anger...finding that none of them were present. I simply could not draw upon a negative emotion in the light of the woman's confession.

     _How can I...how can I fault anyone for falling in love with Leliana. I have no right to place blame; I myself came a hair's breadth from the ultimate betrayal. And she is worthy of love. She is worthy of devotion. I saw the admiration in the young templar's eyes when we spoke...admiration is a form of love. A selfish heart can never be a loving one, and I want nothing more than to love my wife as she deserves._

     "Why tell this to me?" I asked, intrigued by Kathyra's confession, her honesty...and the note of regret that haunted her revelation.

     Kathyra turned her face away, unwilling to meet my eyes. "I...there was no other to tell, and you are not exactly able to throttle me about the neck at this juncture."

     The glint of dark, desperate humor made me smile. "Did you expect me to shout at you?" I inquired. "Warnings, threats, and promises of violence? What have you ever done to me, Kathyra, to earn such things?"

     "Maker's breath!" She exclaimed, wiping yet more tears from her cheeks. "I...I know her love for you is immutable...stronger than the Divine's threats and promises. I see why, Salem. I see why...why she could never look on me with anything other than friendship and yet I...I _crave_ what the two of you have given to each other."

     Compassion filled my heart for the Seeker. I could see the remnants of terrible pain in the set of her shoulders; that her deep green eyes screamed with nightmares that I could not comprehend. I knew that she sought what every single soul set to walk the earth dreamed of and for.

     "We are not without our flaws." I whispered. "For every bright star of loveliness, there are galaxies of pain."

     "I know." Kathyra craned her neck, looking at the ceiling and through it, to the sky beyond. "I know, for I have so long wandered in the land of dying stars. Serving the supposed greater good, following in the footsteps of Andraste, carrying out the will of the Divine and finding nothing...nothing but empty skies and moonless nights and loneliness and longing. And then...then everything changed."

     "Tell me what changed." I urged, feeling the wounds in the Seeker's heart, sick and screaming with the infection of emotion too long held in silence.

     "That night in Highever...Maker's blood-soaked paradise, it all falls back to that night." She shook her head in something akin to disgust. "When I saw you, without hesitation, attack one of the most powerful people in this godforsaken land...I thought to myself 'what madness is this? What reason would drive a person renowned for their clear-headed decisions into insanity?' And then I saw the way she _looked_ at you...just...both of your eyes were so fierce, so quiet, and so _fucking_ bright that I thought it would blind me. That is why...why I intervened that night. I could not wrong Leliana. Not again."

     "Again?" I asked, wondering at Kathyra's choice of words.

     She laughed, bitter, dark, and cold. "I have confessed to you my greatest sin; why not speak to you of my history. I have confided this to Leliana, so please, I beg of you, harbor no ill-will towards me...I understand, however, if you must...I am the elder sister of Marjolaine of Orlais."

     The anger did burn then, hot and fierce, with only the pain radiating through me to stay my hand and gentle my voice.

     "Then you knew? I asked. "You knew of what befell her and you did _nothing!?"_

     Her shoulders began to shake with heart-wrenching sobs that tore at my very soul, so full of grief and sorrow were they. "I...I cannot expect you to...to understand. I...I knew nothing...not until it was too late. I should have...I wanted to...all I could do was fix the damage, nothing more but Leliana...she...she _forgave_ me, Salem! I told her _everything_ and she still forgave me!"

     I warred with the rage in my soul. _My only wish...my only desire has been to go back and undo what was done to Leliana, to spare her that pain, the scars, the horrific nightmares that trouble her still. To give her back the beauty that she presumed stolen...and now I find...there is one living of the bloodline that so thoroughly destroyed her...and yet Kathyra says she was forgiven...and I **know** Leliana. There is no doubt within me as to the truth of those words. _

     I forced my breathing to steady and my heart to calm. I reached out and took the physician's trembling hand. "I will not question your love of her." I spoke. "She is a savior born, and unaware of it. It would appear that she pulled both of us from the poison of our pain and, in her own way, forged our nightmares into dreams."

     "I am so sorry." The physician breathed. "I never...never meant to speak a word, to say anything to another, least of all to you...and heaven forbid that I tell Leliana. Such a thing...such a thing would be unforgivable. Please, Salem, do not hold this against me."

     _How could I hold it against you, when I see the measure of your grief? For to love is to bleed, and to listen to the will of the heart is to break bones, and these things are when the emotion is lived and obeyed. To hold it silent, within yourself is but slow torture of the soul, a poison moving languidly, scorching, eating away the blood._

     "How could I hold it against you?" I asked. "You saved my life, not out of any compulsion but your love of her...knowing as you did that you could have been my salvation or my death. That you could have taken what you desired, explaining it away as but an unwinnable battle. Instead..."

     "For her." Kathyra agreed, her voice muted by tears. "Maker bless us both to hell, I did it for her. The look in her eyes when the seneschal came in, screaming that you were wounded...I have never seen such an expression of absolute devastation, such fear of loss. I...it...how wrong is it that the sole gift I could give to her as an expression of my love is the life of the one who will take her away from me?"

     "You do not know that." I whispered, haunted still by fears of my own. "Leliana's fate is beyond mortal comprehension. She has...she has left me before, Kathyra. This time may be no different."

     "It will be." The physician spoke, once again lighting a terrible hope in my heart. "I...I should go. Please, Salem...I had no right to confide this to you...forgive me for this burden on your shoulders...so long too weary. I only ask...I only ask..."

     "I will not speak to her of this, Kathyra." I assured the Seeker, tormented by the pain of a love unrequited, realizing how truly fortunate I had been that Leliana's path had led her to me, and that our love had been blessed...that it was not a ghost of lingering hope in a weary, weary heart. "And I thank you..."

     "Thank me?" She asked, bewildered. "Whatever for?"

     "For heeding the will of your better heart. For giving me back my life, what little is left of it."

     "Salem," The physician looked into my eyes, wincing as she did so, "all I know...all I know, in this moment, is the sheer magnitude of her love for you. Because I...I cannot bear to look into your eyes." She averted her gaze, shame haunting her features, so similar to those of the woman I had killed in defense of my beloved.

     With those harsh words, so full of truth, the physician turned her back and left the room, seeming so world-weary and distraught that I could but give her some flicker of hope.

     _Hope. Because it has been torn from me, and given again and again and again. Hope, for what time is given me is so very, very little. Hope. Because without it, the human soul will perish, and Kathyra has proven herself, in my eyes and Leliana's, to be a truly **good** woman. _

     "Kathyra," I called, feeling slumber beckon me, "there is something...something you should know."

     The Seeker turned to me, her brows lifted and her eyes screamed for peace. They were so very, very tired. "Yes?"

     "Leliana," I smiled at the taste and flavor of her name as tears filled my eyes from memories and their truth, "Leliana never leaves something behind...but that she returns to it."


	26. Justice Replacing Revenge

**Leliana**

     Esmerelle did not back away. Instead, she smiled, placed her hands atop her desk, and leaned forward in a position that screamed of confrontation. Her eyes glittered with something very like hatred, but her posture held determination, anger, and defiance. 

     "Is this the Ferelden I have bled for?" She asked, and the firelight glinted off her too-white teeth. "A country that would send foreigners to exact the king's justice?"

     "Is this the woman who would rule a territory?" I parried, all salt and insouciance. "One who would judge a heritage based upon so fleeting a marker as an accent? Not to mention my extreme doubt that you have even torn your nails in defense of this land...unlike some."

     _Unlike me. This land...where I was born...where my blood and that of the woman I love has been spilled so many times over. How **dare** she make this claim!? How dare she hold herself alongside the likes of those such as Salem Cousland...the woman who **is** this land? _

     "Oh?" Esmerelle moved from behind her desk, sinuous, like a great, lithe mountain cat. "Are you one of those who fell beneath the warden's spell? Are you here to enact 'the king's justice,' as you say, out of some misguided sense of hero worship? That woman perished on the end of my knife. If strength and decisiveness are qualities that fitting leaders must lack, then I am afraid I have held this city under false pretenses."

     My jaw clenched at the dismissive tone with which she spoke, that she referenced Salem as though she were a dog in need of a mercy killing. Something weak, fragile, to be toyed with. Lost, yes. Burdened, yes. But never weak.

     "Strength and decisiveness?" I questioned, reaching beneath my sleeve and grabbing the hilt of my knife, a particular weapon that I had not needed to use in what seemed like an eternity.

     _A blade for treachery,_ Marjolaine's words, icy and conniving, _a blade for secrets. My gift to you, pretty thing._

     "Yes." Esmerelle's eyes lit. "Fitting qualities in an arlessa, would you not think? We needn't find ourselves at odds, Chantry girl...though..." Her eyes narrowed at me, "I highly doubt that is the _truth_ of what you are. I could make you very wealthy, sate your mind so that you forget this," she fluttered the paper, "little triviality."

     _Triviality? You attempted to kill my **wife**_ _! She might never **walk** again because of you! _

     "Gold has long since lost its lustre in my eyes. There are far worthier causes in life, and I am not in the least tempted by your offer."

     "An Orlesian...forsaking the promise of wealth?" Esmerelle stepped closer, thinking that I did not notice her ever so soft, ever so predictable approach. "How very amusing. I have bargained with your kind, Chantry girl, so let us suspend the notion of haggling. Name your price, and I will meet it."

     "Your mind could never fathom the wealth I possess already." _Love, acceptance, patience, beauty...all things Salem has given me._ "I cannot be purchased, and you cannot escape."

     "Had I so desired, I could have called my guards down upon you like a pack of wolves the instant you dropped your pretense." Esmerelle snarled. "You are in the belly of the beast, my dear; I suggest you find a price or the cost _will be_ your life."

     "So be it."

     I called her bluff, knowing that I had tested her pride to its limit. She had been taken in by my ruse, and a woman such as Esmerelle would let none other accomplish what she thought were _her_ tasks...that was why _her_ knife, in _her_ hand, had pierced Salem's body.

     _And that is the reason she will not call for aid. Any moment now..._

     Esmerelle lunged, pulling a blade concealed at her back, from its sheath. I dodged the swipe with a minute movement, toying with her as her attacks became more frantic and frustrated. I lifted the catch on my wrist sheath, preparing my own weapon as I turned away from a slash to my side.

     "You...damn...dancing _harpy_!" Esmerelle shrilled, cutting through thin air in the place I had stood not mere moments before.

     _It is a dance._

     I smiled, lifting my hand and striking her wrist, bruising the tender skin and veins, as she aimed the knife for my torso. Esmerelle grimaced, but continued her attack, determined to prove her strength, her ability, her willingness to kill in order to avoid justice. Her blade whispered through my hair as I stepped backwards, smiling at her as her breathing grew harsher; as she gathered herself for one final assault.

     She thrust for my throat and I clapped her blade between my hands, stepping back and pulling her forward, twisting the knife until it fell from her grip. She backpedaled and I followed, curling my hand into a fist, the knuckle of my index finger protruding. I brought it, with gentle pressure, against Esmerelle's skin, on the left side of her throat, where neck met jaw. A quick thrust into the sensitive pressure point sent Esmerelle to her knees, clutching her throat, gasping for breath.

     I took the writ of execution from where it had fallen on the floor, and thrust it into Esmerelle's face. Her skin had grown pale as she continued to breathe in short, choking spurts. I pulled my knife from its place and held the gleaming blade before Esmerelle. I knelt before her, a smile perched on my lips.

     "This, Esmerelle," I placed the writ over her heart, a message and a promise, that none could escape, "is strength, decisiveness...and justice."

     I brought my blade down, piercing the writ to her chest, watching as her face paled yet further, as blood began to stain the paper trapped beneath the knife. Esmerelle's eyes gazed at me, wrathful, fearful, haunted, and hunted. The eyes of a predator turned into prey.

     "And this..." I softened my tone, removing the knife, thumbing a catch in the grip that released, by virtue of a dwarven-crafted spring, the blade from its resting place inside the hilt. Only a bead of blood gleamed on the tip...it had barely broken her skin. "...is mercy."

     Shock spiraled across Esmerelle's face as she stared down at the writ, at her heart, which remained undamaged, still intact, beating, and whole.

     "What is...the meaning of this?" She panted as she began to tremble from fear. "You were...surely...going to kill me."

     "Death takes many forms, Esmerelle." I tucked my blade away. "And I would see you meet justice at the hands of a woman far, far more intuitive than I, who is certain to mete an appropriate punishment for your crimes."

     "W...who?" Esmerelle struggled to rise and I clamped my hand on her shoulder, preventing her movements.

     "The woman you attempted to kill, of course." I pressed my thumb against the pressure point that had felled her, leaned close to ear, and whispered. "You _failed_ , Esmerelle. Remember that, and _fear_ as you never have before."

     I gouged my thumb into the sensitive bundle of nerves and Esmerelle crumpled to the ground. I quickly rolled the writ and tucked it inside my sleeve before letting out an ear-splitting shriek.

     A noxious clatter filled the room as four guards poured in, swords drawn. "What is it?" One of them asked, looking around. "What happened?"

     I stood, backing away from Esmerelle's proe form, placing a trembling hand against my mouth, which hung open in feigned shock. "The...milady just collapsed! Oh, ser, I fear she might be ill!"

     "Fetch a healer." The guard snapped, and two of his fellows rushed out.

     "Ser, there's...there's no time." I pleaded, looking at him with fearful, beseeching eyes. "The letter...King Alistair has appointed Esmerelle to be the arlessa of Amaranthine...she must be seen to as _soon_ as possible, and the Chantry is not far. Please, ser, we have skilled healers there."

     He paused, looking between his mistress and me, the scared, frightened, eater-to-aid lay sister. "As you say."

     He sheathed his sword and lifted Esmerelle's limp body in his arms, nodding to me as he adjusted to his burden.

     "Lead the way, sister."

     "Of...of course, ser." I replied, timid, moving through the door, but not without a practice, worried glance backward.

     _A life for a life and the whole world dies,_ I recalled Zevran's thoughts on the subject of his work. _But find what makes a man fear, find what makes him tremble in the night, become that nightmare, and death has a new face, a face that taunts the living. Mercy can be more cruel than death, if meted in the hands of someone possessing wisdom._

 _And who,_ I asked myself, feeling the warm glow of pride,  _is more wise than the woman who knitted together a fragmented country, my fragmented heart, and made both of them whole?_


	27. Come Morning

**Salem**

     "I recognize that look." The rising sun illuminated the figure of my wife leaning against the doorway, her head pillowed on her hand, her gorgeous, tousled hair turned to a fiery halo by the light of sunrise streaming in. 

     My breath left in a rush that made me wince, but I did not care. This sight made everything--the wounds, the pain, the burdens--worth it. It always had, and forever would. Even soot-stained and soaked in blood, Leliana stole my breath away.

     "What look?" I raised a single eyebrow, filled with joy as her lips widened in a smile.

     "The one you were wearing just now." She slipped into the room and closed the door behind her without a sound. "That beautiful mixture of frustration, discontent, and stubbornness."

     I propped myself up on my elbow and she frowned, glaring at me, even though her eyes danced. "None of that." Even her disapproval seemed mixed with a hint of joy. " _You_ , madame, will refrain from moving until Wynne or Kathyra say otherwise."

     I pursed my lips and slumped back against the pillow, heaving an over-dramatic sigh. "as you say." I muttered, attempting to dampen the lightness in my heart, even though it acted as a sharp edge against the gnawing pain, gentling it, calming it, making it seem as nothing. However, I did not know if that happiness would last...if Leliana would stay.

     "Salem," She chided, moving to stand beside me and looking into my scarred, terrifying eyes without flinching, without recoiling, without my asking, "such a look does not suit you. It dampens the inherent nobility of your features."

     "Hah!" I scoffed, immediately regretting it as my side twinged and the deep pain beneath the skin rose from a dull ache to a fresh fury.

     "I'm sorry." Leliana stroked her fingers through my hair as I closed my eyes and hissed at the renewed onslaught of my injuries.

     "Think...nothing...of it." I managed, determined to smile, intent on remaining in this state of indeterminate bliss, no matter my pain.

     _Here, I can pretend. I can dwell in this moment alone, not thinking of futures, not dreaming of what might be. Here, though I cannot hold her, nor stand to press her against me, I can cherish her presence...I can live, truly **live** as I have never allowed myself. _

     Her lips trembled and the light in her eyes dampened as she sat on the edge of the stone table, idly stroking the scars on my hand. "I have brought a gift for you, Salem." She spoke, but the edges of her words were tinged with shadows. "And it is one I am afraid you might not thank me for."

     I wanted to sit up, rest my hand on her shoulder, tuck my chin against her collarbone, kiss her neck, whisper reassurances. All I could manage was to lift my palm and squeeze her hand.

     "Tell me." I urged her, watching the strengthening sunlight enhance the radiance of her features; falling in love with her for the thousandth time.

     "Varel sent word to Alistair." She looked at me, her eyes so serious that my smile dimmed, "of what had happened to you. Alistair replied with a writ of execution for Bann Esmerelle, signed and sealed by his own hand. I went to her estate yesternight."

     _What?_ My thoughts began to race. _Leliana, did you...why? Esmerelle must be dealt with, yes, but this...I wanted to take you from secrets and shadows and knives in the dark. Have I failed you yet again, dear heart? Have I driven you further from me?_

     I steeled myself for the question hovering on my lips...and asked it. "What...what happened, Leliana?"

     She averted her eyes, afraid of my disapproval. "I...I wanted her blood, Salem. She nearly took you from me. You've no idea how many oaths of vengeance I took the day you lay here, burning with fever, crying with visions, fighting for your very next breath. Everything within me screamed for retribution, and then the means to take it, within the confines of justice and the law, fell into my hands."

     My jaw tightened to the point of pain and the heat of tears burned behind my eyes. _Not for me, Leliana._

     "But," She continued, and hope pulsed strong through my veins, "I find myself continually changed by you. Marjolaine's Leliana would have brought down hellfire and shadowed wrath, made the streets red with blood and gloried in the taking of revenge. But you taught me that the hand that wields weapons must be ruled by the heart that knows mercy. I am...I am still learning such things, Salem."

     _You are all that is mercy, Leliana. You gave my pain a resolve, you gave my destiny a future, you gave my breath a purpose. In a time I thought myself abandoned by all gods, new and ancient, you remained beside me, reminding me that I was not alone._

     "You have all that you need, dear heart." I whispered, needing to reassure her, even though I did not know the ending. Even though I was uncertain of whether or not I wanted to know the ending.

     "Not all. Not yet." She shook her head, chasing away whatever thoughts had brought those words from her. "I tricked her, Salem. Made her believe that the writ was the king's proclamation of her as the new arlessa. When she discovered my ruse, she attacked. I subdued her, brought her here, and Varel has taken her under guard to Vigil's Keep, where she will await your return and judgement."

     Admiration filled me, driving away my misgivings as I looked into my wife's earnest eyes. My heart filled with love, joy, awe, and all things I knew to be beautiful and healing.

     _You are so **radiant** , Leliana. There are no words, should I search all the languages of men, elves, and dwarves, should I plunder the ancient knowledge of dragons, should I speak once more unto the Maker, to describe you. _

     "Leliana Cousland," I breathed, "you render me speechless. How you _shine_."

     "Then...you are not angry?" She asked. "I...I did not know what else to do, Salem. I did not want to burden you yet again...but this is your land now, and if I know one thing of you, it is this: in your kindness, you would strip the harsh moments from all the world. It is the first reason I fell in love with you. I could not betray that."

     I said nothing, simply let tears fall from my eyes, brought to my knees by the Maker's twisted grace. Leliana brushed them away, leaving a trail of sparks across my skin.

     "I love you." I whispered, touched once again by the magnitude of the gift I had been given.

     _The love of someone truly good. The heart of a woman whose soul is so radiant that the sun is weak by comparison. The immeasurable beauty of one who would strip from me a burden, then inquire if such a gift was unwanted._

     "Salem, I..."

     My heart sank as I heard the tone of her voice, the same notes hung heavy in the air as they had in the Frostback mountains, as they had that night in Highever.

     "It's all right, Leliana." I assured her, reaching up and touching her arm. "I...I understand. I know, even though we have not spoken at length...I know you are not mine any longer. You are...you are meant for greater things, and I..."

     "Need to be silent." She smiled, running her thumb across my lower lip, stilling my words. "My destiny is mine, and you have shown me that my heart is mine as well. I gave it first to you, Salem. Others took, and others asked, but you were the first who allowed me to be _mine_. What...what I did, enforcing Alistair's writ and your authority...I am hoping that you will consider this my first action as Amaranthine's..." Her lips quirked in an adorable grin, "... _arl_?"

     Shock rocketed to the core of me and I stared at her, open-mouthed, all pain forgotten. Hope scorched me, blistering in the affirmation that shone out from Leliana's ocean blue eyes.

     "You..."

     She leaned close, running her fingers across the scar on my cheek. "I will stay." She whispered, and it was the sweetest promise I had ever been given. "Whatever time we are given each other, I want it all. Every moment. With you. Can...can I have that, Salem?"

     Overwhelmed with emotion, I could only nod, letting tears stream from my eyes...tears that she had returned to me, emotions that she had reawakened from death.

     "Yes." I breathed. "Oh, Maker, yes."

     Her lips pressed against mine in a blazing kiss, the pure white fire from it scouring through my veins, awakening every nerve, igniting every emotion, driving away every last trace of pain, both in body and spirit. I flinched as both of my legs began burning and I cried for that, knowing, somehow, that I would walk again, and not be a burden to this beautiful woman who, somehow, still found love for me in her heart.

     "Cruel." I gasped as she pulled away, leaving me hungry, leaving me longing, leaving me needy.

     She tucked my hair behind my ear and pressed a kiss to my cheek. "Heal quickly, my love." She wiped away a tear of her own. "We have too much time to make up for."

     _But..._ Nothing but joy dwelt within me _...we have **time**. At long, long last. _


	28. A Love Unrequited

**Leliana**

     "I don't like it." Kestrel pursed her lips, pacing in front of the fire in the Chantry's infirmary. "While I know it is an eventuality, it still seems too soon...as though we are willingly borrowing trouble."

     "Were it normal circumstances," Sergeant Alan looked at the mage-templar, whose viridian eyes sparked like stars, "you would not even be here, private. Keep that thought present when you speak your mind."

     Kestrel's shoulders knotted and she visibly reigned herself in before replying. "Yes, sir."

     "Private Ariyah is here at my request." Kathyra spoke, alleviating the tension that had crept into our impromptu meeting. "We have had quite a bit of time to get to know each other, and I value her opinion, sergeant. In truth, I am considering sponsoring her recruitment into the order of the Seekers."

     Kestrel's eyes flared to mine, and the minute shaking of her head indicated her wishes. "Perhaps, in the future." I intervened, looking between the two of them, seeing a friendship forged between the physician and the templar.

     _Kathyra would be able to protect Kestrel's identity, and the mage-templar could prove invaluable in the hellish situations Cassandra seems bent on dragging her subordinates through. Maker...was this your intent? To draw this strange gathering together, to provide for each other so that I might...that I might live the full measure of the life that I desire. A life with Salem, my love, my life...my peace._

     "Whatever the case may be," Sergeant Alan brought the conversation back to its beginning, "we must make our decision. Enough time has passed, and the healer mage has cleared both Lieutenant Kathyra and Private Camerloch for travel, so long as they do not over-extend themselves. The Divine is waiting for our report, and the ship's captain is anxious to get his crew home."

     _Seven days have passed,_ I thought, a small smile on my lips. _Salem is healing, able to walk again, Esmerelle incarcerated until judgement can be meted. Kathyra and Rylie are both well enough to travel. Alan is correct. Everything is as it should be...it is time for another chapter of life to close, and a new one to begin. As unpleasant as the outcome may be, Cassandra has awakened, though Wynne has kept her sedated to avert trouble._

     "It is decided then." I sighed, dreading the revelation soon to come, looking to Kathyra, asking her to take the reins of leadership that had fallen into my hands by circumstance alone.

     "Indeed." The physician rose from her seat near the hearth and straightened, seeming none the worse for wear, though she and Rylie both would wear scars from the battle. "I will speak to the healer mage tonight. Sergeant Alan, please tell the templars to muster out, and have the ship's captain prepare to sail to Val Royeaux. Dismissed."

     Alan snapped to attention and rendered a salute, turning on his heel and walking briskly from the room to disseminate Kathyra's orders. I remained with the two women who had shared with me their confidences, fought alongside me in battle, backed me against the most powerful warrior in the land. Kestrel glanced from me to Kathyra, reading the sorrow in our eyes, and interpreting the silence as only someone given to it, be they a bard or thief, could.

     "Lieutenant," She asked, her soft voice barely audible, "might I have a moment alone to speak with Leliana?"

     "Of course." Kathyra answered, walking a short distance away, enough to allow for discretion.

     The mage-templar smiled at me. "You...you are not coming with us, are you?" She asked, and I shook my head. Kestrel sighed. "I thought not. I know this question is considered the question asked by untempered minds, but I must ask...why, Leliana? Why leave the place where you could effect such powerful change?"

     I smiled at her, though it was laden with sorrow. "It is not yet time, Kestrel. What good are our lives if we do not live them as the Maker has ordained? Loving one another, and remaining alongside those who carry our own souls?"

     A slight blush covered her cheeks. "I always wondered what sort of god would deny their prophet a right to their own life. I never understood how the entire world could derive inspiration from the story of Andraste...it seemed such a tragedy. But you," She smiled at me, and it held hope and promise, "you will be different. If ever you have need, Leliana, you know where you will find me. Rylie as well. Thank you...thank you for all that you have given me; given _us_."

     She flung her arms around me in a warm embrace, imparting friendship, support, and gratitude.

     "Kestrel," I whispered, "whatever may happen to you, whatever transpires, _this_ is the Maker's will. That you live your life in love, and not in fear. Hold to that, and let its truth carry you through this difficult path you have chosen. If you must confide your secret, there are two others whom you can trust. Kathyra and Rylie will not betray you."

     We withdrew from the embrace, and the former thief's viridian eyes were glittering with tears. "Thank you, Leliana. I...I have to go. I cannot hold myself above my squad, and I'll be carrying gear for two."

     "I wish you well, Kestrel Ariyah." I clasped her shoulder and squeezed it.

     Her eyelids lowered, narrowed, and a strange look crossed her features. "We will meet again, Leliana." She told me, as though she had seen into the future. "I do not know how, but I am certain of that."

     "Until that day." I nodded.

     "Until then." She smiled and strode away with a dancer's graceful, unhurried movements.

     I turned back towards Kathyra, feeling an incredible loss in my spirit. Neither of us could conceal the grief in our hearts. She had been a true friend, one of few I had ever known, and it would hurt to watch her leave, knowing what she would be returning to. She approached me, a smile on her face and sorrow in her gaze.

     "You chose well." The physician whispered, tears falling from her eyes.

     "Kathyra, I...I am sorry." I looked into the deep green eyes, remembering their hue in another woman's face...a woman whom I had loved with a foolish heart and a naive mind.

     How grateful I was, that I could stand before Marjolaine's sister, a woman of great beauty and compassion, and know that I did not lack in her eyes. That she called me friend, as well. And we were more than that. We had suffered from the same touch, and found ourselves redeemed by love.

     "Do not apologize." She shook her head and attempted to keep her smile. "You showed me a new world, Leliana. A world worth fighting for...worth speaking for. I will hold to the beauty that remains and _live_ in the knowledge that pure hearts still walk beneath the sun. You give me hope, hope as I have not known since Giselle brought me out from darkness. I find myself healing, accepting, forgiving, and that...that is your doing."

     "You kept me alive." I stepped closer. "You kept me sane, and protected me. Before you, there was only one whom I could trust implicitly...I am far more blessed than any who walk in this world. At this parting of ways, " _...will you cry for me, Leliana..._ "know that you are loved, Kathyra."

     "Leliana..."

     "Go to the ship." I brushed tears of my own from my cheeks, despising myself for leaving her in a world that held no safety or security. A world where she was alone...as I had been alone, so many times. "You should not be here when Cassandra awakes. No one need bear her wrath but me."

     Kathyra's brow creased with confusion. "Why would you do this?" She asked. "What has happened is as much my fault and my wishes as your own, and I...I do not understand."

     I smiled, feeling the name I had chosen burn against my beating heart.

     _Cousland...a legacy of honor, truth, and trust. This, Salem...this is what you have given me. The knowledge that I, who have been beaten, broken, and scarred, could turn my blood-stained hands to healing. It is why...it is why I must stay. The gift, as Kathyra herself named it._

     "I made you a promise." I whispered, feeling the sorrow pouring from her in waves. "And I intend to keep it, for as long as I live."

     Kathyra reached out and took my hand in her own, running her thumb across my knuckles. "I never thought such beauty could exist." She breathed. "Thank you for proving me wrong, again and again."

     Gentle, hesitant, she stepped closer than a friend, leaning in and pressing her lips against my cheek. The warmth of her breath scorched my skin like a fire, and when she pulled away, I recognized the look in her eyes. They held a stunned shock, a still, worshipful awe, an energy and fervency that had but one name.

     _Oh, Kathyra...forgive me. How did I not realize..._

     "Kathyra..."

     She shook her head, acknowledging the truth of where we stood, in all of its heartbreaking reality.

     "Be happy, Leliana." She begged me, her voice cracking with sorrow and other, deeper, inexpressible emotion. "Please, be happy."

     "I will." I made her another promise.

     Kathyra walked away, back to the life she had not wanted, away from me, to whom she wanted to give a gift I could neither accept nor return.

     _Maker,_ I prayed, watching the physician's shoulders bunch and uncurl with silent grief, _please, see fit to give her what you have granted me. Love. Trust. Lead her to someone who can take her precious, beautiful heart in their hands and protect it as fiercely as Salem protects me. Let another's eyes look past her scars, and listen to her songs. Do not let her hope be in vain...do not let her faith be broken. And keep her safe._

_Please._

_Keep her safe._


	29. A Mother's Farewell

**Salem**

     "You're healing quite nicely." Wynne lowered my shirt over the wound in my side with a smile on her face. "Walking seems to cause you more pain than normal, and for that, I am grateful. Tomorrow will see my return to the Circle, and thus I would advise you against any more brushes with eternity."

     _Partings,_ I thought, a smile quirking my lips, _always partings in this life. But I can accept this now, so great are the gifts I have been given. Wynne is needed at the Circle. She is invaluable there._

     "You will be greatly missed." I told her as the rose from her kneeling position beside my bed. "Thank you, Wynne. Thank you for my life."

     She shook her head. "You should know better than that by now, child. I had very little to do with it."

     "Do not short-change yourself, old woman." I chided, a playful note in my tone that had been too long absent. "Between a mage blessed by a spirit and the prayers of a saint, I had no choice in the matter."

     Wynne threw her hands in the air, releasing the argument. "It is good to see light in your eyes again, Salem. I know I am not alone in having missed it."

     _I know, dearest Wynne. I know._

     "I have all that I need." I sighed and lay back as a dull ache crept into my side. "All that I need and more."

     "Those who give all will find all that they need." Wynne spoke an old proverb, one that had often fallen from my mother's lips when, as a young girl on the cusp of womanhood, I had protested every court event, every moment spent elsewhere other than the lists, or the hunt, or my books.

     "My mother often said that." I said, shocking both myself and the senior enchanter.

     I had rarely, if ever, spoken of my family during the Blight. Most of what I did confide was to Leliana, away from the others...and never did I speak of the good times. Never of the sweeter memories. I had held them close to me, afraid to release them for fear that they would depart all together.

     _All things must pass, and when...when I die, I want others to know of how I laughed, of the times I wept, and the nights I **danced**. I no longer desire a life where I fear loss so gravely that I cut myself off from all hope and joy and memory. I want to experience **everything** that this world and this life have to offer. _

     "Lady Eleanor was well known, even in the Circle." Wynne's eyes ventured into the distance. "Though how a woman of such vaunted bearing and grace could give birth to such a hoyden is beyond the realm of my comprehension, no matter my age."

     I laughed, ending it on a heavy sigh and wince. "She was wise, and kind, and beautiful." I remembered. "I supposed I all too often took it for granted, but her patience must have been legendary. I am afraid I was but a constant trial...I still am."

     "No." Wynne shook her head, and her watery blue eyes fixed on me. "Eleanor Cousland would be _proud_ of you, Salem. Do you remember what I told you, before we marched on Denerim?"

     The memory washed over me in a bittersweet wave. "You told me that I gave you hope." I whispered, recalling the senior enchanter's words on that terrible day; the day when the hope of all Thedas rested on my shoulders.

     "And it is hope that is becoming truth." Wynne sat beside me, took my scarred hand in her wrinkled, weathered one, and squeezed it. "The templars, the Chantry, and the mages have come to an accord. Progress will be slow, but there are already plans in place to let mages free from the Circle, the older and more experienced perhaps settling in a village as healers, or in schools as instructors. Small steps toward independence, but they are leaps and bounds compared to the stagnation and imprisonment we have endured. Alistair, the dear boy, has requested a liaison to the Ferelden Circle be permitted to reside at court in Denerim. None of this would have been possible without you, Salem. Since the Chantry was founded ages ago on the teachings of Andraste, _no one_ has fought for us. I owe you everything...perhaps the children you saved that day in the tower will be able to have lives, take lovers, wives, and husbands, have children without fear of them being snatched away in the night at the edge of a blade."

     I took both of her hands in mine and turned to face her, my eyes filling with tears as I realized that she stood a greater chance of witnessing this future than I did. There was so little time left for me, but this...this was not the time to dwell.

     "I wish you all the happiness and freedoms you deserve, Wynne. No one should ever be placed in chains, and if I had any part in breaking those of the Ferelden mages, then I am grateful beyond reckoning."

     Her weathered hand reached up and brushed my cheek, a great grief in her eyes. "The woman who would sever the chains of all the world is bound to a master that none can escape. What will you do, Salem? With the time that is given you, what will you do?"

     A figure walked by the door and my heart caught fire at the sight of flaming tresses. "I'm going to live, Wynne." My features nearly split with the force of my smile. "I am going to finish the darkspawn in Amaranthine, and then I am determined to find my joy and spend every moment I can savoring this existence. I am a woman changed, a woman _blessed_ , and a woman free."

     Wynne smiled and brushed the tears from her cheeks. She smiled and leaned forward, placing a motherly kiss on my forehead. "If we do not meet again in this lifetime, Salem Cousland, I feel I should tell you this. Had I been blessed with a daughter, I would have wanted her to be like you, in every way. And though I grieve for your many losses, I thank you for bearing them with such gentility and grace, and for allowing them to shape the future of Thedas for the better."

     _I have...Wynne, I have done so little. I took up a sword and defended my country. I went forward for the earth behind me had been scorched. It is nothing but what any other would do, if faced with that fate._

     "I gave what I could." I said. "I can only pray, in the end, that it was enough."

     "More than enough, child." Wynne replied, looking as though she wished she could take the taint in my blood from me...a mother's wish for her child, to see them restored to wholeness, health, and life.

     "Wynne," _This is a farewell, and no power in Thedas can change that,_ "there are no words to express my gratitude for all that you have done. I..."

     "There are no true farewells, Salem." Wynne smiled. "No matter what fate befalls us, we both know that we live on borrowed time. Should that time run out, for either of us, we will meet at the gates of eternity and continue on."

     "Indeed we shall." I agreed, grateful that, in her ever-present wisdom, Wynne had averted the sorrow of parting.

     "Go to her, Salem." Wynne rose from the bed and straightened her robes in the same way she always had. "Leliana will need you very, very soon."

     I stood, grateful to find the pain so lessened, and my strength returning. I narrowed my eyes at the senior enchanter. "Where do you find room for all of your knowledge and secrets, old woman?"

     She laughed, a quiet, wholesome sound that filled me with joy. "In a heart set at peace by a brave and beautiful young warrior." She answered. "Now, be off with you. It would seem there is one more foe to conquer before you and your bard begin your lives together."

     "Cassandra." I nearly spat the name, fire flowing through me, though I knew I was still in no condition to take the High Seeker in another contest of blades.

     "Quench the flames in your eyes, Salem." Wynne warned me. "This is Leliana's battle, but she will need you there to aid in its winning. Consider it a reversal of roles."

     "As you say."

     "I will _miss_ those words, my dear." Wynne smiled as I walked with her to the door. "But I shall miss you even more. Be well, Salem. Prosper. Love. _Live_."

     "I promise."

     The senior enchanter, my second mother, my dearest friend, walked away from me then, down the long hallway that led to her new life. I turned towards mine, to the last battle I would ever need to fight for love. And I knew, as I heard the rise and fall of Leliana's mesmerizing accent...

     _...that this battle is already won. At the end of the day, I have never seen love do anything less than triumph._


	30. Preparing for Battle

**Leliana**

    I paced forth and back before the hearth in the Chantry's infirmary. I could feel the storm brewing, growing closer, all lightning and ominous thunder. I wrapped my arms around myself and rubbed them as though chilled, even though I was kept warm by the roaring fire. My fingers tapped at my wrists, where I bore no weapons. After so long anticipating an attack, a battle, a malevolent force in the night, I felt naked without my blades. 

     _But, surely, this will not come to blows,_ I reasoned, trying to reassure myself. _I am better than that, and Cassandra is too proud. Regardless of her feelings towards me, she is not permitted to attack me. I am still under the Divine's protection._

     "It is too beautiful an evening for such a severe expression, dear heart." A voice spoke low, resonating deeper than the thunder in my heart.

     I turned towards Salem, smiling as I did, as the ache in my heart from leaving my friends behind softened. My wife's eyes were shining, her cheeks flushed with a tinge of color, a smile perched on her lips. In the soft light of the fire, she had never seemed more alive, vibrant, stronger.

     _How soon will you be taken from me, my light, my shining star?_

     "I am afraid that this severity is warranted, given what is soon to transpire." I answered, finding myself more at ease as I moved closer to her. "How are you feeling? Should you be up and about yet?"

     "I am quite well, I assure you." She said, as she always would. "Truly, Leliana. No pretension, no bravado, no posturing. I am fine."

     "Then tell me how you did this." I gestured hopelessly to the empty room. "I am a bard, light on my feet, queen of impromptu lies and truths...I have never had to prepare for what I assume will be an all out war. How did you withstand this pressure, this rush of thoughts pounding and roaring through your mind?" I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. "I have such a headache."

     "Come here." Salem sat on the hearthstone and I took a seat beside her at the invitation.

     She turned and pulled me back against her chest, massaging my temples with her dexterous, strong, scarred fingers. I relaxed into her touch, basking in her nearness and obvious care.

     _This is the woman who saved Thedas,_ I thought, feeling all of my muscles relax beneath Salem's ministrations. When at last my headache had been driven away, she wrapped her arms around me and laced her fingers across my waist, pulling me into a warm embrace.

     "What makes you think of nothing?" She asked, and the inquiry startled me.

     "I...I do not know. What do you mean, Salem?"

     She tucked her chin against my collarbone and her breath tickled my ear as she spoke. "When I set my hands on my swords, everything fades away, except for what _must_ be done. And, in those situations where I was forced into decisions beyond my ken and above my power, I would go into my mind, put my swords n my hand, and think of nothing but what must be done. I relied on instinct, and truth, and all the things I held dear to my heart. For, in that nothingness, even if I found it in a weapon of war, I knew the core of myself, and, by the Maker's twisted grace, it was _right_."

     A new appreciation for my wife rushed over me and I bit my lip, in awe of how she could make me _feel_. "That seems so...so iron-clad and distant." I spoke my thoughts aloud. "A sort of severance from existence that baffles me. How did...if that is how you survived during those trials...how did you find your way clear? How did you...how did you come to love me?"

     Salem laughed, low and breathy, a sound as rich as a cello's mourning. "Somehow," She whispered, "you were there. When I would close my eyes and fight the chaos, the clamor, the harshness, when I would lay my hands on my blades, you were beside me. And in the steel and fire of my grip on what _must_ be done, I could hear your voice against my ears, telling me what _should_ be done. You are within me, instinctually. If that is not love, then I have no comprehension of the emotion."

     _How is it,_ I wondered, brushing moisture from my cheeks, _that you can continuously bring me to tears? Marjolaine made me weep, tears of pain and bitter sorrow. Salem...Salem brings me tears of joy._

     "You embody the emotion." I tilted my face to hers and she kissed me without hesitation, without doubt.

     It was not heated, not over-wrought with passion. It spoke of simplicity and comfort, a knowledge and an understood contract between the both of us. That we belonged to each other.

     "You gave me the knowledge of what it truly meant." She assured me. "Trust yourself, Leliana, as I have trusted you countless times. You have never failed."

     "How can you say such things...after everything I have put you through?"

     "I could repeat that question with just as much honesty." She smiled and tucked my hair behind my ear. "But it would seem that we are blind to each other's transgressions. With you here, in my arms, I cannot recall a single moment of hurt, a single second spent in tears. All that I recall are your smiles, the feel of your skin, the heat and passion of your words."

     "I love you." I breathed, tracing the scar on her cheek with reverence.

     " _ **Cousland!**_ " A Nevarran accent echoed across the stone floors, rife with fury, but I did not flinch.

     Instead, I rose, my wife's hand in mine, a peace and calm stealing over me that could only come from Salem.

     "I am here." Salem assured me. "I am here, with you. Trust me, Leliana. Trust yourself."

     I relinquished her hand and strode forward as Cassandra's silhouette entered the door.

 _Think of nothing,_ I urged myself. _Find that place of instinct, and truth, and see clear to what **must** be done. _

     A sweet song began to play in my mind...a lullaby...my last remaining memory of my mother. It was the first song I learned to sing from the tutor Cecile had hired for me. It was a tragic song of truth, with a simple, humble melody, so reminiscent of the land where I had been born. Salem's land. My new home.

* * *

     **_It's simple as the stories go, transcending time and fate,_**

**_It's simpler that we never know, for men are doomed to wait...  
_ **

_I feel a hand inside my own, textured, scarred skin and warmth hotter than flames._

_"I am waiting for you, dear heart." Salem speaks, hope, promise, eternal truth, everlasting love. "At this road's end, I am waiting for you."_

_"But I..." I reply, suddenly afraid as my enemy, the second most powerful woman in Thedas, approaches, "...what if..."_

_"Trust." Salem says. "Trust this. You carry no blades, but it is not steel that will win this fight. It is your first weapon honed; your words, your speech. You have all that you need."  
_

* * *

     I flashed out of the moment, standing face to face with Cassandra; Salem nowhere near me. But I had heard her voice, felt her hand...instinctual, within me. Where none other could venture, a place none other could claim. My heart, my soul, fiercely and ever my own. 

     Cassandra's amber eyes flashed, but I felt no fear. "What in _hell_ is going on!" She demanded, her voice harsh and braying in spite of the deep bruising that still mottled her jaw. "Give me an answer, Cousland!"

     " _You_ ," I hissed, not cowed though she stood a head taller than I, "will refer to me by proper title, or not at all. Am I understood, Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine?"

     Cassandra's eyes narrowed, filled with vitriol and hatred. I found myself smiling...smiling as the war began.

 


	31. A Broken Right Hand

**Salem**

     I stood back from the unfolding confrontation, filled with admiration for my wife, my Leliana. Cassandra Pentaghast looked down at her, eyes filled with scorn and the glow of pride born from the misguided belief that she could do no wrong. I crossed my arms and waited for the Right Hand to speak, keeping silent as I never before had, knowing, with absolute surety, that this was not my battle. 

     "You _impudent_ whelp!" Cassandra cried, but Leliana did not flinch, did not falter. "You would _dare_ address me in such a manner, after everything you have done! You usurped my command, had me _jailed_ , then stood and did _nothing_ as your pet _abomination_ beat me inches from death!"

     "I have every right." Leliana stated. "You are a guest in my home, and as such, I expect a certain amount of decorum, though if you cannot persuade yourself to be civil, I _will_ reciprocate in kind."

     Cassandra sniffed and turned her chin at the haughty angle that birth, blood, and position dictated it be set. "Your home? You are nothing but an underling of the Chantry, beneath my command by Divine edict, and you _will_ follow orders."

     Leliana's eyes blazed with a fury I had rarely witnessed in my bard. Righteous, pure, untainted. 

     _She could have been a queen,_ I thought, smiling with unapologetic pride. _Her bearing, her speech, her beauty and determination. Maker, how I **love** you. _

     "Those under your command are awaiting you at the ship. They are to set sail for Val Royeaux as soon as you arrive. I am not to be numbered among them."

     Cassandra took a step back, her eyebrows raised; her cinnamon eyes aglow with wrath. "The _Divine_ has ordered that you remain at my side! No matter either of our emotions as to this matter, _no word_ can overrule that of Beatrix. Now, cease this posturing and assume your _proper_ place! You have much to answer for, and I will see you on your knees before the Divine in the Hall of Justice!"

     "I have _nothing_ to answer for." Leliana asserted, stepping forward and claiming dominance of the situation. "I took the reins from your hands because of your grievous ineptitude and misplaced priorities. Two women nearly _died_ paying the _price of your **arrogance!**_ And, I swear by the Maker, that if you claim the ideal of _sacrifice_ before my face again, I will tear your soul in _half_!"

     I could see the struggle crossing the Nevarran woman's features. Too long had she gone unchallenged. Too long had she been the pinnacle of her world, her every word clung to, her ever action law. Never had another possessed the audacity to decry her. When words had failed her, she turned to strength...a fool's choice, no matter the situation.

     _Rivers of blood drip from my hands, but I take no pleasure in that knowledge. To this day, I remember **every** face, every torn body, of mercenaries, thieves, assassins...the villagers of Haven, the child that I murdered. Sacrifice is noble, and worthy, but not if others pay the price. It is a lesson Cassandra has yet to learn, or the burden of blood on her hands will become too great. If she does not learn it soon, it will bury her. _

     "You _directly_ subverted my authority, and struck me!" Cassandra turned to her last defense, all too aware that Leliana would not countenance yet another explanation of the "greater good."

     "It was _necessary_." Leliana claimed. "Or has your time spent recovering not allowed you proper reflection!? You would have given the mages victory, or are you too _thick_ to understand that!? In saving the lives of Kathyra and Rylie, we were _victorious_ , Cassandra! If even _one_ soul that can be saved is lost in conflict, then it is a loss, a failure, and a _dereliction of **duty!"**_

     "You have no concept of the true world, you imbecilic tart!" Cassandra's voice dripped with disdain. "You, so enraptured and twisted in your tales of heroes and legends, you have no knowledge of the _truth of the world! People **must** die!" _

     "And based upon that logic, you would leave the wounded to their fate!?" Leliana's voice echoed across the stone floors like an angel's wrath. "I am not a mere child enamored of tales, Cassandra. I have lived a more difficult life than you and your elevated position could _conceive_! I _know_ you lost those you loved; I _know_ that you fought a grievous conspiracy and nearly lost all that was dear to you. _Do you think you are the **only** one!?" _

     " _None,_ " Cassandra argued, buried deep in her pride and the pain that Leliana had wrung from her memories, "have carried the burdens placed upon my shoulders! _None_ can _**comprehend**_ the darknesses I have witnessed!"

     "You would make that claim in the presence of those who stand before you now?" Leliana asked, crossing her arms and raising her brow. "All others might believe your version of the truth, Cassandra, but not I. There was not a _scratch_ upon your skin after the battle, and you dare to think you _**comprehend**_ the nature and notion of sacrifice!? Look at her, Cassandra," Leliana flung her hand in my direction and I sighed, hating that it had come to this. " _ **Fucking** look _at her and know your words are _lies_! Salem lost _everything!_ She had burdens more than comparable to those you cite, and she _sacrificed **everything!**_ Everything except for those that drew their swords alongside her own."

     "Only with the aid of _demons_ did she accomplish the great deeds that have clouded your eyes!" Cassandra thundered, shoving past Leliana and approaching me, a bristling tower of wrath and disgust. "Tell me, oh vaunted hero of legend, _what_ comprises a leader."

     Leliana turned, fear in her gaze. Cassandra had no knowledge of my wounds, but if this escalated into a physical confrontation, I would be unable to defend myself.

     "If a comrade is bruised, their leader should be bleeding." I answered, finding the impossible calm that I had discovered during the Blight. "If they are bleeding, their leader should lie on death's threshold. And if, by any chance, your comrades are on that same threshold, their leader should be at the Maker's side."

     " _That_ ludicrous statement is an utterly unsustainable ideal." Cassandra hissed. "To whom would fall the leadership? Who would envision, guide, and direct!?"

     "How could a leader finish their work if they let those who follow, who do that work, die?" I asked, bewildered by the cruelty of the woman's logic. "Without their power at your back, you are nothing but an idea, an idea never realized because you have thrown away the very strength with which to achieve it."

     Confusion filled the Right Hand's eyes, quickly thrust away by anger and rage...the response of youth, ignorance, and arrogance.

     "I do not believe that." She hissed.

     I smiled. "Then you are a fool."

     The Right Hand's fist rammed into my gut, against my still-healing wound. Pain shot through my body, sending me to my knees as a hoarse gasp ripped from my throat. The sound of a blade slithering from its sheath chilled my spine and I stared up as Cassandra's sword came down for my skull."

    " **Stop!** " Leliana ordered, but it was not her voice.

     It was the sound of a siren's call, a chorus of galaxies clashing, the might of a dying star. I opened my eyes to see Cassandra's blade held aloft, stayed by the hand of the silver-eyed, indigo-haired woman who had carried me from my nightmare. The Right Hand strained against the divine hand, not seeing the god she claimed to serve, and I looked to my wife, seeing awe in her features and a light in her eyes that had never been there before.

     _Is this..._ I staggered to my feet... _the true power...of the Maker's chosen prophet?_


	32. The Voice of God

**Leliana**

     Absolute rage infused me as I saw Cassandra's sword poised in mid-air, aiming for my wife's collapsed body. The Right Hand struck her injury, and Salem was not yet mended, but no cry of pain left her lips. She simply lay on the ground, huddled, curled into herself and protecting her vulnerabilities. I burned. 

     Too far away, I could not move to aid her, could not step forward. My lips felt fused together, unable to do anything but watch as Cassandra Pentaghast prepared to end Salem's life...and for no crime committed but the truth. The truth that she made manifest in the way she lived; in the manner in which she preserved those who fought alongside her.

     _Maker, give me strength!_ I begged, feeling air sucked from my lungs and a fire begin to flow through my veins as my heart _shrieked_ with an overwhelming force of love and protection.

     " **Stop!** _"_ I shouted, but a new voice spilled from between my lips, one that deafened and demanded, a tone that reminded me of cracking earth and raging waterfalls.

     Cassandra's sword ceased its downward motion and I stood there, rooted, stunned. Salem's eyes drifted upward and I knew that both I and my wife witnessed the Maker herself holding Cassandra's blade at bay. One glance into Salem's scarred eyes told me everything that I needed to know...the Right Hand remained blind, even though the god she served stood before her.

     "What magic is this!?" Cassandra sputtered, sweat beading on her forehead as she fought for control of her weapon. Her eyes flared, filled with vitriol and venom, but it was Salem who bore the force of her gaze. "I _**knew**_ you dealt with demons!" She raged. "And you have tainted one of our own in your heresy!"

     Words, not my own, battered inside my mind, demanding to be spoken. The Maker wore a soft smile and nodded at me in further affirmation. I breathed deeply, allowing the foreign voice to come forth once more.

     " **Are you so lost, child** ," I spoke, frightened as I felt the stones beneath me shudder, " **so lost that you would mistake the hand of god for the will of a demon? Have you fallen so far in your bitterness that you would destroy those whom I have made great, that you would place _you_ _r_ frail human perception above _my_ will** **!?** "

     "I ordered you to be _silent_!" Cassandra roared, but I saw the glimmer of fear in her eyes. "What trickery is this, Leliana Cousland!? What bardic art do you attempt to ensnare me with!? My eyes have been blessed by the Maker himself, and I..."

     " **Are. But. Mortal.** " My throat began to burn with the power coursing through me, an indomitable fire, an unquenchable volcanic stream. " _ **I**_ **stood at the foundations of nothing, and crafted from thence the cities of Black and Gold. _I_ cast the demons into the Fade and wove the Veil with my own hands. _I_ saw it fit that you lived, that you prospered, that _you_ , Cassandra Pentaghast, survived the horrors wrought on your lands and family. And, in my sight, you have fallen. In my sight, you are failing the vows you swore upon your blood and upon your faith in me.**"

     " _Heresy_!" Cassandra shrilled, and the Maker removed her hand from the Seeker's sword. Cassandra stumbled, righted herself in a blink, and strode towards me, blade outstretched. "This _charade_ ends now! I will drag both of you before the Divine and justice _will be **rendered!** " _

     The tip of her blade scored my throat and, following a knowledge not my own, I waved my hand in a dismissive gesture. The sword flew from Cassandra's arm, the force of it pulling her to her knees as the blade embedded itself in the stone wall, above the blazing hearth fire.

     " **I. Am. Justice.** " I tasted blood in my mouth. " **Have you grown so accustomed to your voice alone bearing power that you are still blinded, Cassandra Pentaghast? Are you so mired in lies that you cannot see the truth screaming before you?** "

     Cassandra rose to her feet, a frenzied, frenetic fear in her movements. "This," She looked from me to Salem, "this ends _now!_ " Her hands clenched into fists and a white fire began to burn between them.

     Salem's eyes spared with alarm. Both of us had seen Alistair use this technique: a templar's Holy Smite, the flame of the Maker that extinguished all magic and all evil in its wake. I had seen it turn a blood mage to a puddle of ash and charred bone. I shook my head as my wife stepped forward, a quick, quiet warning to put faith in the hands that had protected us both from Cassandra's naked sword.

     "The righteous stand before the darkness," Cassandra spread her hands and the white fire dripped from them, spreading into a protective circle, " _and the Maker shall guide their hand!_ "

     The room exploded into a wash of pure, blinding fury. I felt a hand in mine as the white flames rolled over me, leaving the scent of scorched lyrium in their wake. I turned to see the Maker at my side, her silver eyes gleaming with hope, beauty, and the relief of revelation. The flames died and Cassandra's lips parted as Salem and I stood as we had been, unsinged, unhurt, unmoved.

     " **In your heart lies the darkness you claim to stand against.** " I spoke, noticing that the Maker's lips moved with my own, a final proof that I was indeed called to be her prophet. " **Bitterness. Pride. A heart so intent on justice that mercy is forgotten; a heart closed away to love! Your vaunted righteousness lies in my sight, a bloating, rotted carcass of original intent! You have twisted my words and _murdered_ my _children!_ _Look upon me now, and TREMBLE_**!"

     Cassandra dropped to her knees as the Maker stepped from my side and transformed. A wind sprung up from nowhere and whipped about her starlight gown. The waterfall of indigo hair turned into a halo of deep, purple flame, and the silver of the moon in her eyes burned with the intensity of ten thousand suns. Tears fell from the Right Hand's eyes as she witnessed a god, the god she thought silent, vanished, gone forever from the face of Thedas.

     "I...I have failed." Cassandra's voice cracked as her skin began to redden from the light radiating outward from the Maker's form. "Forgive me, my Maker! Please, I beg of you, have mercy on the child who has thought of _nothing_ but to serve you!"

     " **Then _serve_.** " I stepped forward, feeling the Maker's will within my very soul, as though at that moment I could hear every heart beating and every voice raised in prayer. " **Serve me in humility. Serve me in love. Serve me in seeking out _truth_ , not of mortal men and their machinations, but of divine will. Remember this moment,**" I extended my hand and pulled Cassandra to her feet, " **as I grant you mercy that you _did not show_ to those _no less my children._ Now, Cassandra Pentaghast, rise a true Seeker, go in _my_ grace, and think no more of sating your pride and indulging your anger. I have written your fate in the stars, and at the end of time, _I_ will measure and mete the deeds you have done in my name. Begone, and _know_ , that I walk again amongst my people. They will cry 'the _heretic_ has come, proclaiming a new god _,'_ but _you_ will stand alongside the one who carries my voice, and you will let her know peace.** "

     "As you decree, my Maker." Cassandra's face had paled to the color of ash, her lips quivered and her hand trembled in my own. She looked at me and her cinnamon eyes filled with a wretched sense of awe as the Maker's form vanished from her sight. "Who _are_ you?" She asked.

     " **Time immemorial.** " I spoke, seeing the Maker's lips move, for even though Cassandra could no longer see her, the Maker had not departed. " **A will re-enacted. A repentant deity. I am Hope. I am Light. I am Love. Go, Cassandra. Seek your ship and do not darken these shores again until the one I have named my own stands once more in your presence.** "

     Cassandra turned and all but fled the room, ignoring her sword that remained impaled in the wall, a standing reminder of the power of a god and the needs of mortal men. The intense energy that had filled me, scorching my heart and burning my lips, departed, leaving me coughing, gasping, but once more myself. Salem rushed to me, gathering me in her arms as I swayed. The scars in her eyes were all but gone as she gazed down at me, filled with love and awe and admiration.

     Small, delicate fingers wrapped around my hand and placed it into Salem's scarred palm. The Maker rested her hands over our intertwined ones, her smile holding an immense love that could not be spoken of in any mortal tongue.

     "What I have ordained," She spoke, a gentle, flowing river, "no man shall sunder." The silver gaze turned to Salem. "For a time, warden. Cherish."

     With that final mandate, the Maker vanished, leaving behind the fragrance of fresh-fallen snow and spring roses.

     I gazed into my wife's face, overwhelmed with emotion, exhaustion, and _joy_. My throat ached, my lips burned, but it did not matter. Once again, Salem had rendered me speechless, such was the light radiating from her silver-blue eyes.

     "Leliana Cousland." She took both of my hands in hers and knelt down. "Be my wife. Live with me. Love with me. Let me _cherish_ you, for whatever time awaits."

     _A simple life. A simple love. My gift...before I embark on the greatest and most dangerous journey that any woman or man has ever taken. Thank you, my Maker, for this beautiful gift._

     I searched for words, finding only three. Tears spilled from my eyes as I spoke them. "As...as you say."


	33. To Speak of Love Again

**Salem**

     _For a time, warden._ The Maker's adjuration echoed through my mind as I gazed across the sea of grass, smiling at the glory of my wife; the smile perched on her lips, the red-gold lustre of the sun dancing through her tresses. _Cherish_. 

     I knew the order for its deeper meaning, an apology and a gift intertwined. The taint still coursed through my blood, and no miracle could remove it. My life would be cut short; but the time I had left gleamed with such potential that my limited years no longer mattered.

     _Never to be torn from her again._ Peace filled my soul. After so long in torment, it seemed like a foreign emotion, not to be greeted as an old friend, but celebrated as a love forged anew. _But one task left to accomplish. Once the darkspawn are dealt with, I will set about rebuilding. I will turn my hands to growth, to creation. I **will** become a woman of peace. This I swear, in my final days. _

     "Are you well, my love?" Leliana's horse sidled along mine and her hand wrapped around my arm. "Your eyes are far away and pained..." She paused, scrutinizing me. "Is that...is that blood?"

     She leaned over and lifted my shirt, examining where Esmerelle's blade had punched through my skin. Fresh blood seeped from the broken scab, and the skin had already darkened to an indigo bruise. She touched the damaged skin, I flinched, and she looked up at me, her brow pinched in a frown.

     "Cassandra split your stitches when she struck you. We should go back to the Chantry and have one of the healers..."

     "Leliana, it is nothing that cannot be seen to when we reach the Keep." I smiled at her concern and laced her fingers through my own. "I am fine, I swear it...simply thinking of what remains to be done. I have been too long away from Vigil's Keep and my fellow wardens, and I am quite certain things have fallen into disrepair."

     My wife's lips trembled, as though we had truly reversed positions, as though she blamed herself for the burdens on my shoulders. I laughed aloud and a look of indignation crossed Leliana's features, so brief I barely recognized the emotion before it melted into affection.

     "I had forgotten the symphony of that sound." She squeezed my hand and sparks flitted along my skin. "There was a time, Salem, when I would have given my soul to hear you laugh."

     I sobered, thinking of the dark times we had been through, and the dark times yet to come. _She belongs to the Maker. There are further trials in store for her, and I will not be there...I will be further from her than when a sea separated us. An expanse so vast will keep us apart; I know for I have seen into its depths and trembled at its magnitude. But that will not dissuade me. You **will** be loved, Leliana. For as long as I am alive, you will be **loved**. _

     "I had forgotten how to laugh." I spoke, falling into the ocean depths of her eyes and drowning there, blissful. "But I learned again. From you."

     We fell silent for a time, riding together, both of us fading back into memories of joy and of sorrow, of glee and of grief.

     "Are you afraid, Salem?" Leliana asked, delving deep into my scarred eyes. "Do you...do you fear what you have seen in me? What I have become?"

     "No." I assured her. "I know everything that you are. You are the Maker's prophet, gifted with visions and a message of love that Thedas _must_ hear. But you are also the woman who stole into my tent when lightning struck too fiercely and thunder shook the earth. You are the woman whose eyes glittered with mirth that drunken night outside Redcliffe when you forced me to dance. You are the woman who spoke to me for a _full candlemark_ of your torrid love affair with _shoes_."

     "I blame you for that!" She exclaimed, doubling over in her saddle with laughter. "You just _stared_ across the fire with this inscrutable gaze and the silence grew so think I nearly suffocated! But you, you _impossible wretch_ , left me so ridiculously tongue-tied that after we had exhausted our contemplations on the weather, I could do _nothing_ but speak of what first came to mind!"

     I raised a single eyebrow upward. "And in the middle of the Blight, after we had nearly been skewered that same evening, your nearest thought was that of...shoes?"

     "I was desperate for _something_ to say!" Leliana argued, her smile widening. "Morrigan had cornered the market on witty barbs, Alistair had all but killed you with endless conversations of weapons, armor, and tactics; Wynne knew more of history than I could ever fathom, and Zevran had inured you to flirtations advances. I..." Her tone softened and she pierced me with smouldering eyes, "...I wanted to set myself apart in your eyes...to draw your gaze, to be so devastatingly _interesting_ that you would seek me out first when camp was made."

     "Little did you know, dear heart," I stared at the sky, recalling the glorious full moon that had illuminated that night, the scent of blood and smoke in the air, the symphonic crackling of the logs as flames consumed them, "that I would have listened to you speak of all manner of inanities, if only for the pleasure of hearing your voice."

     "In truth?" She ducked her head and a slight, innocent flush colored her cheeks. "You...you never told me."

     I fumbled for the right words to say, to tell this beautiful, ravishing woman all that she meant to me, then and now. "When...when you spoke of your past, that first revelation of the many to come," Leliana's countenance darkened with a hint of shame, but it faded as I reached out and touched her shoulder, "I did not want to whisper to you the words that so many must have said. I could see that you had known admiration, that more than one lustful advance had been made, and that many brave chevaliers had vied for your favor before they entered the tournament lists."

     Leliana nodded, her eyes fading into memories of darker times...but I knew they held a light of their own. She was a lover of beauty, tangible and spiritual. I knew why she asked if I feared her; if her change, from a woman who operated in shadows to a leader who stood proud and fearless before the mighty, had altered my love for her. It could not. Nothing conceived within heaven, forged in hell, or made of earth could change my heart.

     _You are the one my soul sought from the beginning,_ I smiled as I watched the sun caress her face. _The one that haunted my dreams. No matter the heady swirl of first love, the calm contentment of second love, the physical rush and satiation of inconsequential love...you encompass everything. You are my last love, Leliana. The one that I wished I had known existed, that I might have given you something that **never** belonged to another. You are the memory I will cling to as I cross into eternity. The final breath in my body will hold your name, and nothing else. _

     "I wanted," I continued, knowing that these were the first of many, _many_ new words of love to pass between us, "to be something you had not known before. Someone who would seek out _your_ desires and _listen_ to your stories...not the legends and poems that you perfected to an art, but the tales of your life, your wishes and wants...and I had no idea the manner in which to achieve that."

     She shook her head. "You made it seem so effortless. Do you remember the Brecilian Forest, after our first skirmish with the werewolves, when I dragged you back to Wynne and demanded that she heal you?"

     I nodded, remembering the shame that had coated me as the mage used her magic, as the first scream broke from my lips...the pain and pity in Wynne's gaze, the terror in Leliana's. I had felt such a failure...defeated in spirit.

     "I thought you were angry with me." Leliana bit the edge of her lower lip, seeming so vulnerable, worlds away from the woman who had channeled the voice of god. "We set immediately back to the chase, and your face was so white and your eyes so fierce that I did not even dark to speak. Then we broke for a rest, and you disappeared off into the forest. When you returned and called me away from the others, I thought for certain that you...well..."

     "I know." I answered, low, knowing that she had feared from me the same cruelty she knew at Marjolaine's hand.

     "Then you pressed a bouquet of flowers in my hand, looked at me with the most intense eyes, and said but three words. 'Thank you, Leliana'." She quoted, her eyes sheened with tears, lost in the memory. "You did not even remain," She tucked her hair behind her ear, "long enough for me to realize that the flowers you had given me were Andraste's Grace. I just stood there, surrounded by memories and the beauty of the wild...and I thought..."

     She trailed off and wiped the moisture from her eyes, this experience so new to both of us. We had spoken at length of love and of passion, but we had never...never had _time_ to remember, to recall the small moments between the heat of battle and the fear of loss. It was beautiful, almost holy, to speak with her of old things...because the new things were before us, to be experienced in their time...a thing that, at last, we were free to share together.

     "What did you think, dear heart?" I asked.

     She turned to me and her eyes were _singing_. "That I had never before realized...the simplicity of love. My life in Orlais...love had been made so convoluted, always a secondary agenda, always a dagger waiting in the dark, always the fear of poison in the kiss. So I stood there, with those flowers in my hand, realizing that you had heard _me_ , that you sought to speak to _my_ heart; it was the first gift I had been given that had nothing at its other end, no expectations, no demands...and in that moment, I fell in love with you."

     "We were such fools." I extended my hand and she took it, firm and warm and forever. "Young and in love; both of us so fearful and damaged."

     "Broken pieces were meant to fit together." Leliana lifted her eyes as the imposing walls of Vigil's Keep came into view. "How else would we understand the meaning of what it is to be truly... _truly **whole**_."

     Her eyes sparked as she surveyed the home that I had been given, the land that I was sworn to. At long last, through hellfire and suffering, I had accomplished the goal I held to from the first.

     "Leliana." I reined in my horse and she turned her face to mine.

     "Yes?"

     _I promise to give you everything that is mine. I promise to live, to fight, to hold your heart in my hands and grant you the one thing you have never been given. For a time...for the rest of my life...I will cherish._

     "Welcome home, dear heart."


	34. The Judgment of Bann Esmerelle

**Leliana**

     We were bombarded the moment we passed beneath the portcullis. A stern man in armor stopped Salem's horse, an urgent look in his eyes that caused my wife to dismount with a grace and alacrity that belied her still-healing injuries. I bit my lip and said nothing, remembering how damaging it could be to a fresh-instated liege lord for their spouse to question them before their subordinates. 

     "What is it, captain?" Salem asked.

     "News, milady." The captain of the guard rendered a sharp salute and continued. "Our scouts have returned with the location of the Legion of the Dead. You said you would seek them yourself in aiding against the darkspawn threat."

     "I will set off tomorrow." Salem replied, and, at one time, my heart would have ached with the knowledge that her duty would always tear her away from me.

     _But it is different, now. Something has changed between us. I do not know if it is the foreknowledge of her shortened life, or if she was moved by the presence of the Maker, or if she has simply realized what I came to learn during our separation. There is too much pain in the world; we must always seek the small joys and beauties, lest we risk insanity in the wake of a world bent on enslaving itself to suffering._

     "Excellent, milady. Also, Warden Howe took it upon himself to seek out the missing warden from Orlais. Kristoff, I believe his name was. Last word had of him said he was setting out for the Blackmarsh. Howe wanted to muster the wardens to go in search, but the seneschal ordered him to await your arrival."

     A quizzical expression crossed Salem's features. "Nathaniel took it upon himself to conduct a warden's investigation?" She asked.

     "Aye, ma'am." The captain nodded and I dismounted, coming to stand beside Salem, knowing that Nathaniel Howe had been a constant thorn in her side. "I went with him to Amaranthine. During the course of our inquiry, we chanced upon his sister, a good woman by all accounts...they had words, milady, and I remained away from the conversation, but since that time, Warden Howe is a man changed. I'd lay my sword alongside his any moment."

     "Bless the Maker's twisted grace." Salem muttered, shaking her head. She smiled at me. "It would appear I am not the only warden in Ferelden determined to change my ways. Leliana, this is Garevel, captain of the guard. Captain, might I introduce you to Leliana Cousland, my wife."

     The captain crossed his arms before his chest and bowed from the waist. "Well met, milady." He said. "Forgive me for accosting the arlessa with matters of state before she had proper time to settle in."

     "It is no trouble." I smiled. "We are quiet accustomed to such things."

     Garevel's eyes widened as we began to walk up the steps to the Keep. I smiled as I touched the walls of harsh Ferelden stone; saw the barrenness of the halls as I entered. "Your home could use a woman's touch, my love." I whispered in Salem's ear, and she turned a highly inappropriate laugh into a cough, startling Garevel, who looked back to make certain all was well.

     "There is also the matter of Bann Esmerelle, milady." Garevel pursed his lips, uncertain of broaching what he assumed would be a delicate subject. "She has been a right royal terror, and attempted to bribe several of the guards, plying them with position and wealth, as if she still possessed her lands and title."

     I shook my head, remembering Esmerelle's offer of wealth beyond my comprehension, if I simply looked the other way from her crime. It was not the offer of it that disgusted me...it was the fact that, in another time and place, for the right price, I would have switched my loyalty for that manner of profit. I did not know what loyalty was, until...until that day in Lothering, when Salem Cousland entered my life.

     "Did any of them accept?" Salem asked, her tone holding a polite interest that I knew could be transformed into righteous fury at a moment's notice.

     "No, milady." Garevel smiled with pride in his men and their integrity. "Though any who reported the offer were removed from her guard rotation so as to avoid temptation."

     "Well managed, captain." Salem replied, and the man veritably beamed. "Bring Esmerelle to the main hall. If I am to mete justice, I will not make those deserving of it wait. I have been away too long already."

     "With good reason." Garevel's eyes came to rest on me. "I am certain no one will fault you for allowing yourself time to mend from your injuries and reacquaint yourself with... _Arl_ Cousland?"

     Salem threw back her head and laughed, a sound so rare and infectious that I could not refrain from joining in. Joy surged in my heart, Garevel's jest reminding me of the words I whispered against Salem's ear when I delivered the happiest of news. When I chose in accordance with the wishes of the Maker. When I reaffirmed my marriage vow, my belief in love, and pursued the proper choice, subverting destiny.

     _For a time._

     Garevel departed to carry out Salem's order and my wife took my hand in hers, leading me to the main hall of the Keep. A fire burned in the central hearth, suffusing the room in a gentle glow. Salem's hand squeezed mine tighter and she stopped, her breath shuddering, her skin paling as blood drained from her face. Her eyes were fixed to the flames, unmoving.

     "Salem?" I asked, concerned, for this was not like her. "Salem, what is it?"

     "I...I nearly died." She lifted a trembling hand and pointed towards the hearth. "There. It has...it has never before struck me so profoundly, but now...standing here, your hand in mine, I realize all that I might have lost."

     I pulled her closer to me and pressed my lips against her neck. "You lost nothing." I reassured her, running my hand up and down her back. "I am here, and I will be with you tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and the bloodshed will end, and the pain will ease, and all will be as it was meant."

     "I can...I can at last allow myself to believe that." She straightened her shoulders, moving away from me as the doors opened and Garevel and another guard escorted a chained Esmerelle before Salem.

     The deposed woman's eyes turned to ice as she saw me, the enmity in them becoming worry as Salem strode forward, lifting her hand. Garevel stopped and jerked Esmerelle backwards as she strained against her captors and chains. The sound of the chains scraping across the stone floor sent chills down my spine, reminding me of the time when I, too, had been locked in chains, tortured for a crime I did not commit.

     "Unhand me, you imbeciles!" Esmerelle barked the order. "I have a matter of grievance to address with this...this _creature_ who would presume to rule _my_ lands! Listen to me _well_ , Cousland, a woman of my stature has _rights!_ There are _laws_ and _codes_ that govern matters such as this, and they _shall_ be adhered to. I will send word to the King and..."

     "Esmerelle," Salem's voice remained low, controlled, but I could see the slight tremor of her hands, the brief flash of pain that crossed her face from the wound that troubled her still. The wound Esmerelle dealt her. "You would complain of your treatment and deny your crimes to the very king who signed your death warrant? I was told you were a brilliant woman...I see now that a grave error was made in that assessment."

     "You brutish whore!" The woman screamed, unbowed by her predicament, unrepentant of her crimes, indignant of her chains. "I have been treated like..."

     "Have you been fed?" Salem's words snapped across the stone with the force of a whip. Even I recoiled from the heat and repressed anger within them. "Have you been given water when you are thirsty? Were you clothed? Were you permitted to bathe?"

     Esmerelle's nostrils flared and her shoulders bunched. "Yes." She hissed the affirmative.

     "Then you have been granted far more amenities in my prisons than many of your own people enjoy in their freedom." My wife spoke, command and control and power in her bearing. "I have every right to slaughter you, Esmerelle. It is within my power and my rights to order that you be tortured, maimed, and broken. However, you have done yourself a great favor by the mistake you made. By leaving me to the mercy of the wounds you inflicted, you have given me time to reflect, to ponder, and to make my final decision as to what exactly your fate will be."

     The darkness in Salem's tone seemed to dim the lights in the room, and I found old fears awakening in my heart. The same fears I had found tormenting me in Rendon Howe's dungeon. Fear that Salem would be lost to me, that she would forfeit her soul and know a crueler fate than death.

     "I await your _judgement_." Esmerelle sneered. "No manner of death can frighten me, whelp. You will not hear me scream. I will not cry out. I will not beg you for mercy. Your punishment of me will bring you no satisfaction, I am firm in that resolve."

     "I am glad of it." Salem smiled, a cunning light in her eyes that I had seen only on the rarest of occasions. "Let all who stand here bear witness. I, Salem Cousland, Arlessa of Amaranthine and the voice of King Alistair Theirin, do hereby pass judgement."

     _Keep true to yourself, my love,_ I begged, banishing my fears with trust. My trust in Salem.

     "Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine," Salem continued, solemn, "for your crimes against the crown and the land of Ferelden, I hereby strip you and all living descendants and relatives of your title. Your wealth and estates will be repossessed by the crown and distributed to the citizens you have wronged during your tenure. As for your personal fate, you will spent the rest of your days until your death learning the true measure of nobility. Captain Garevel will assign a guard to you, and you will work as a servant, aiding in the rebuilding of the Keep, using your own hands to repair the damage done by the selfish acts of Rendon Howe and other nobles of his ilk, such as yourself."

     "I would rather _die_." Esmerelle pulled at her chains with soft, pampered hands that were soon to be covered in calluses and blisters, splinters and scrapes.

     "I know." Salem smiled, full of sorrow. "Do you think I am unaware that I still dance in a nest of vipers? To kill you would be to give them a martyr, a spark to ignite their hatred. Make no mistake, Esmerelle, this _will_ kill you. But I hope, at the end, you will realize the truth of the monster you were, and give yourself willingly to the work I have ordered for you. I hope you will someday _desire_ to make amends for your crimes. Now go." Salem ordered the guards. "And do not disturb me again this day."

     The captain and his soldier dragged Esmerelle away, ignoring the font of vitriol from her lips. She screamed every manner of insult and epithet at Salem, furious at being handed a fate she did not receive, and all the more bitter for it. Salem returned to me, her composure fading as the mask she wore crumbled.

     "That..." Admiration rushed through me. "...how?"

     "Necessity." Salem grasped my hand and led me from the main hall, up a flight of stairs, and into a modest bedroom.

     She sat on the edge of the bed and sighed as her hand move protectively over her stitches. I knelt before her and gently pried her hand away, lifting her shirt and inspecting the wound, the angry, puckering scar tissue held together by thin strands of silk. I understood the fractures in her spirit; knew them as intimately as I knew my own.

     _To stand in a place where death once whispered your name...not many can understand, nor can it be spoken of with ease, but I know, my love. How well I know._

     "I love you, Salem." I breathed, pressing my lips to the healing wound, feeling the pang of desire as her breath hitched. "You are not alone. Not this night, or any other."

     "Sh...show me." She whispered, a favor I had once asked of her, a delicate proof of unspeakable motion. "Leliana, please. I...I need you."

     _And what choice do I have,_ I lifted my fingers to the laces of her shirt, _but to honor the vulnerability in a spirit so unbreakable? None...and no other choice do I wish to have before me._


	35. Awakening's End

**One Month Later**

**Salem**

     My arms ached as I forced open the gates of Vigil's Keep. My ears rang, screaming with the blurred din of battle and the cries of the wounded. I stumbled against the wall, using it to hold myself upright as the weak, over-exerted muscles in my right leg threatened to give out. Rain poured down, making me shiver, sending blood and sweat cascading into my eyes.

     _It's over,_ I thought to myself, struggling to keep moving forward, one foot before the other, mindless of the bruises and cuts that covered my body. _No more battle. No more war. The darkspawn are being led away. At long last, it is at an end._

     "Leliana!" I cried, feeling the cold hand of fear ice over my heart.

     Since my return from Amaranthine, I had not known a day of rest. The time was spent gathering resources, fortifying the Keep, recruiting a Fade spirit and the last Legionnaire remaining in Amaranthine to the Grey Warden order. Even so, it seemed we were not prepared when the final attack came. The darkspawn assailed us from two fronts, attacking the city of Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep simultaneously.

     I choked down the lump in my throat. When the report came, Leliana had looked into my eyes, both of us knowing the stakes. Lives were at risk, those of wardens, soldiers, and innocents. I chose to go to the city, fighting through the streets in a macabre re-enactment of Fort Drakon, save for...for the enemy at the end. I would have rather faced the archdemon in all of his glory once again rather than know that such a monster was capable of existence.

     My stomach lurched at the memory of the stench and I tasted the sting of acid in my throat as I fought yet another visceral reaction. _Eyes as black as death and a voice straight from the nightmares of the Black City,_ I shuddered with revulsion. _Had it not been for the aid of the Architect, we would surely have fallen._

     My path crossed with the mysterious creature, the self-claimed Architect of the darkspawn, multiple times. The abomination I destroyed had been of his making, a creature he attempted to craft for himself as a companion to while away the lonely, despairing days of being the singular one of his kind. But it... _the Mother_...became bitter, angry at their shared fate, and she built an army of her own, intent on wiping every sentient being from the face of Thedas.

     I held little love or appreciation for the Architect, but I understood his desires. He had saved another Legionnaire, Una, and Velana's sister, Seranni, from a cruel death at the hands of the taint. I could honor him for that, though my heart ached for Velanna. She had taken her sister's rejection hard, though I could see the resolve in her eyes, to use her warden gifts to keep another's loved ones from suffering the horrible fate wreaked by the darkspawn.

     "Leliana!" I cried again, attempting to see through the thick sheets of rain and the rapidly gathering fog.

     _I have to know. I have to know if she made it through the onslaught alive. Inasmuch as it **killed** me to leave her behind, I could not...I could not leave the Keep without a capable commander at its helm._

     I stumbled through the door of the Keep, brushing my waterlogged hair out of my eyes, feeling as though my armor wished to drag me to the ground and bury me within it. The attack came with the sun's rising, and now the moon was nearing its final descent. I did not know how I managed to remain on my feet and continue fighting for an entire day. Eradicating the darkspawn from the city had taken almost all my strength. By the time I stood against the Mother, every movement was mechanical and every blow a triviality. I could not feel the pain. Streams of blood melted down my armor, cleansed by the rain. I did not know how much of that blood was mine, nor did I care. I had but one thought driving me forward, keeping my eyes open, grounding me in the waking world.

     "Leliana!" I shouted, praying to hear her voice through the ever-increasing clamor inside my mind.

     I entered the main hall, seeing a flurry of activity as guards and citizens rushed about, tending to the wounded. My eyes darted around the room, searching for the telltale flash of red hair, listening for the lyric voice that could still manage to ring with imperturbable calm.

     _Where in **hell** are you? _

     No one saw me as I passed by, immune to the sight of another bloodied, battered, drenched warrior. I was grateful for the ignominy, as it made seeking my objective all the easier. The wardens who fought with me from dawn until dawn, Velanna, Oghren, Nathaniel, Sigrun...all had gone their separate ways. The dwarves kept our spirits as light as the could be, each one of them counting the number of the enemies they felled in fierce competition and the trading of graphic and profane insults in between kills. Nathaniel remained in the city to search for his sister and her family, a task I would never order him away from. Velanna left my side once the Keep was in sight, rushing to the infirmary, intent on using her Keeper's training to aid those who had fallen.

     I staggered up the stairs, begging my body to hold on, to keep moving. My eyelids fluttered and I sagged against the wall as the muscles in my back spasmed repeatedly, protesting the weight of my armor and the strain my body had endured.

     I opened the door of my room and stepped inside, dripping red-tinted water onto the floor in macabre puddles. Varel knelt before my wife, tying off a bandage around her forearm. Leliana glanced up, the fear in her blue eyes melting to a caring anxiety.

     She rose so quickly that Varel fell back onto the ground, shaking his head and muttering something about 'incorrigible women'. I could not bring myself to care as my wife crossed the stone floor, as her hand brushed my cheek. I could see the horrible exhaustion in her eyes, as insistent and demanding as my own, through the bandage on her arm was the sole wound I could see.

     " _Tu trembles! Est-ce que tu vas bien?_ " The words tumbled out in a thick Orlesian accent, and I had no way of understanding them. "Salem?" She asked, searching my eyes, begging for a response to her obvious concern. "Salem?"

     "What..." My voice, harshened by smoke and screaming in battle, emerged as nothing but a whisper, "...in hell...did you just say?"

     The damaged muscles in my right leg fluttered in fierce spasms and I gritted my teeth against the pain. She was all right. She was here, and well, and the battle was over. I saw her and I knew peace. With my soul set at ease, my body began voicing its demands, and I had no control as my leg buckled beneath me, the weight of my armor dragged me down...my eyes rolled back in a relieved unconsciousness.


	36. Rest at Last

**Leliana**

     The sun began sinking, drifting below the earth, marking the end of the day after the final battle. Salem still lay sleeping, face down on the bed, pale with exhaustion, the skin beneath her eyes purpled with fatigue. I smiled and inhaled the pleasant scent of the warm herbal tea Varel delivered not long ago. I lifted the cup to my lips and sipped it, savoring the taste of honey. It warmed me to my core, bringing with it the immense sense of relief that greeted me when I had awakened from our shared, exhausted slumber not a candlemark ago. 

     _The threat has ended. The darkspawn are truly vanquished from Ferelden._

     I smiled, thinking of the long days and nights Salem had been away, the ten days that had passed as she battled in the Blackmarsh, fighting a long dead baroness whose grip was still felt through the Veil. She'd returned a veritable mess, shaky, disoriented, a walking corpse at her side, uncomprehending of my tears and my own tremors when I saw her. Ten days I spent in fear, following when she did not return on the third day, scouring the horrific nightmare of the Blackmarsh for the remaining seven until she returned...unaware that a single day had passed.

     _You have fought so hard, my love,_ another smile played across my lips as I watched her sleeping, an all too rare sight. _And, at last, respite is at hand. You can turn your thoughts solely to the governance of this province, tear your hands away from their swords, and know the true definition of peace._

     A soft knock rang at the door and I hastened to answer it, before the noise became more insisted and roused Salem. I opened it to reveal the similarly exhausted features of the Dalish warden, Velanna. Upon my arrival at the Keep one month ago, I knew the woman hated me. We shared several awkward exchanges upon my arrival to the Keep, stepping silent around each other, avoiding eye contact. The uncomfortable tension built to a crescendo, wherein the elf had drawn herself up to her full height, and in a tone quite reminiscent of Morrigan's acidic verbiage, told me _emphatically_ that she would not _touch_ my shemlen warden even if all she had lost were to be returned to her.

     In a decided fit of feminine, umbraged pique, I descended to her level, beginning an argument that ended with weapons drawn and spells being flung about the room. Salem had intervened, nearly snapping Velanna's staff and breaking my wrist in her ferocity. Then, with her trademark dark humor, she smiled the sweetest smile, her eyes lit like a child's at Yule, and she had said, "For me?" in the most saccharine, honeyed tone, before exclaiming, in a roar like thunder, "Idiots!" She flung our weapons to the floor and departed, leaving Velanna and me stunned, staring at each other, lost for words.

     The ludicrousness of the situation had struck both of us and we descended into laughter, reconciled our differences, and parted as friends. I smiled in greeting at the elf, who had proven that she was wise, and, despite her blunt nature, that she cared for all life and possessed a great capacity for kindness.

     "Leliana," Velanna returned my smile, "I...everyone has been asking after Salem. Mistress Woolsey has managed to find me at least seven times in the last candlemark, asking the same questions. Creators above, I had to _sneak_ past Varel in order to knock on the door. Is..." The woman's brow creased and her lips turned down at the corners as her vivid eyes grew worried, "...is she all right?"

     I chuckled and shook my head at the image of Varel playing guardian. The seneschal had attached himself to Salem as a guardian, a father-figure, and a man who would walk through hellfire in order to support her in whatever manner he could. He felt that he still owed her the debt of his son's life and freedom. This past month, he had been a rock for me, a constant support when Salem's work called her away and caused her to risk her life for her land yet again.

     "She is sleeping off a profound case of exhaustion." I kept my voice low. "She's bruised to hell and has several deep lacerations, but nothing life threatening. Please tell me there is no cause to wake her."

     "Thankfully, no." Velanna shook her head. "Varel and Woolsey are keeping everything well in hand. Oghren and Sigrun returned this afternoon. Sigrun is still resting and Oghren has risen only to drink himself into yet another stupor. Nathaniel sent a messenger bird; he is remaining with his sister for a time and aiding in the restoration of her home, as well as assisting the city guard with training new recruits to replace those lost to the darkspawn."

     "What of Anders and Justice?" I asked after the mage and Fade spirit, the two wardens Velanna did not mention.

     Her vivid eyes darkened. "I believe it is best if Salem relays that particular tale."

     A gnawing worry crept inside my heart and nestled there. Of all the wardens, Salem had constantly found herself on guard near the volatile mage. He had often stated his resentment of his induction into the Grey Wardens, regardless of the fact that he was permitted to live outside the Circle, free from the fear of the templars, and given liberty to seek out his own life. To become a Grey Warden was to sacrifice much, but it offered a mage a better life than the imprisonment of the Circle.

     Anders refused to see that, and despised the duties that bound him. He used his liberty and spare time to devise arguments against the Chantry's edicts, scribbling version after version of his manifesto, disseminating it in secret and plotting a revolution. Upon meeting Anders, Justice...Justice did nothing but encourage him, a spirit absolute in its cause, with little open-mindedness or time taken to understand the extenuating circumstances.

     _Justice is a difficult thing to manage. It is subject to perception, and cannot resolve a conflict, but all Anders is capable of seeing is the lack of justice meted to mages. That which is corrupt in his world must be cured from the source of its corruption, not by fighting the soldiers the conflict has cultivated. Such a thing can only end in bloodshed, loss, and pain. It is the reason the Maker has chosen...me. A bard, a woman with intimate knowledge of poisons and their cures._

     "I see." I murmured. "Is there anything you need?"

     "No." She offered me a slight smile. "Now that i have news, I can keep the thronging masses from their endless inquiries."

     "Thank you, Velanna, for securing her time to rest." I reached out and squeezed her shoulder, imparting my gratitude, knowing that her magic had saved Salem's life on more than one occasion; that her keen eye for strategy had won many a victory. "And for bringing her back alive."

     Velanna shuddered, presumably at the memory of the Mother. "I have a new life." She spoke in her blunt fashion. "Not one that I chose, but one that I am increasingly learning to be grateful for. I have much to learn from the wardens, and, if the Creators see fit, to bring back to my people. I have Salem to thank for that...a cruel mercy, turning me back to face my pain, not allowing me to forget what has made me stronger and...and more kind. My...my Keeper would have been astounded by her."

     I nodded in silent affirmation. Salem had, and continued to, change the world. Before she came into my life, I believed that Thedas thrived from deceit, machinations, the pride and arrogance of those in power. But a single, simple woman with humility, grace, and quiet, quiet strength had managed to shake it at its very foundations. All races would be impacted by her sacrifices, and by her words.

     "I still find myself in that particular position." I admitted. "Consistently astounded."

     "Myself as well." Velanna agreed. "You should continue to rest, Leliana. I will take my leave."

     She departed and I shut the door, turning as I heard Salem's breathing change, quickening into short, shallow gasps. "Andraste's blessed ass, I ache." Salem muttered, half into her pillow.

     I winced as I heard the harshness in her voice, realizing her throat must be tender and raw. I sat on the edge of the bed and moved her tangled, dirty hair away from her face. My heart tripped inside my chest, joy coursing through my blood, relief easing the tension I did not realize I carried between my shoulders.

     "I am quite proud of you, my love." I whispered, kissing the imperfect shell of her ear, notched by the teeth of rats in Rendon Howe's dungeon. "You managed not to return completely in shreds, though your collapse was quite dramatically rendered."

     "Speaks the woman who barraged me with inquiries in a language that I cannot comprehend." Salem shifted, groaning as she used muscles that had to have been tight and torn.

     "I worried for you." I confessed, heavy emotion choking my voice. "The siege of the Keep was so _fierce_..."

     At that, Salem rolled over and bolted upright, wincing, her eyes wide and glowing with concern. "Are you all right?" She rasped, moving a clumsy hand over the bandage on my arm, looking me over for further injuries. "I...Maker's breath, but I am worthless."

     "It's a small graze, Salem. I am quite all right." I assured her, leaning down, pressing my forehead to hers, placing a soft kiss on her chapped lips. "You need not worry, my love. All is well, you are home, and safe. Take this," I placed my cup into her hand, helping her close her stiff, bruised fingers around it. "It will help soothe your throat."

     Salem took the cup, her hand trembling as she lifted it to her lips. She sipped the hot, sweet liquid, an expression of relief spreading across her features. I took her free hand in my own, stroking the crimson scars from the archemon's blood with my thumb. The silence between us was perfect, unconstrained, blissful and replete with love.

     My wife finished the tea and handed the cup back to me with a smile on her face. "My goddess." She whispered, her hand reaching up, fingers ghosting across my cheek. "You are too good to me."

     "If I can even repay a measure of what you have given me," I breathed, setting the cup aside and moving closer to her, resting my head on her shoulder, "I will forever be content."

     Salem lay back down, pulling me with her. Her lips caressed my forehead and her arm folded across my waist as she aligned her body and mine. We lay together and she placed delicate kisses along my neck, sending delighted shivers down my spine. I wanted her, I needed her...I _ached_ for her, but we were both still too weak. We needed to heal, and here, in her presence, I knew we would have that time.

     _She is so warm._ I thought as I melted against her heat. _So strong. Strong enough to carry a world, fight monsters and gods and yet...she is so gentle. Gentle enough to break the hardest heart. I am so blessed._

     "Here, like this," Her damaged voice whispered against my ear, "I have all that I need. I love you, dear heart."

     Her breathing evened, deepened, and I did not have to look to see that she had once again succumbed to slumber. I lifted the hand that held me to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss of gratitude and love to her scarred skin before returning it to its place.

     I closed my eyes and joined her in a healing sleep, knowing that tomorrow would come and that, no matter the circumstance, it would dawn bright, beautiful, and full of promise.


	37. The Making of Mistakes

**Salem**

     "Raise your arms, love." Leliana encouraged me, frowning at the sweat breaking out on my forehead. "I know it hurts, but I have to see to your wounds, or Woolsey will have my head."

     I smiled up at her, gritted my teeth, and lifted my arms. Leliana moved quickly, grasping the hem of my shirt and pulling it over my head. I hissed as the cloth stuck on my shoulder, tugging at something tender. I flinched as Leliana tugged my shirt free, leaving me naked in front of her. She set my shirt aside, grabbed a candle from the bedside table, and moved the flame close to my shoulder.

     "How was this missed?" She questioned, a note of anger in her voice. "You've an open cut across the back of your shoulder. How dare..."

     "Leliana." I reached up and rested my hand on hers. "You were seeing to the Keep, and the healers were exhausted. We all were. No harm done."

     "I should have been here and made sure you were properly cared for." She muttered, touching the back of her fingers to my forehead. Her cool skin was paradise. "You're too warm." She sat beside me and scrutinized the injury. "It's infected, Salem."

     My wife rose to her feet and pulled the table closer to us. She had prepared for everything. Leliana reached for a bottle of clear malt alcohol and saturated a clean towel with it. With an apology in her eyes, she began cleaning the wound. I gritted my teeth and tried to remain still, but I could not keep from flinching. The inflamed skin burned and though Leliana was gentle, she could not keep the flames from arcing across my nerves.

     "Damn it." She cursed, throwing the bloodied cloth into the fire. "It's deep enough to need stitching, but I won't risk sealing the infection in. You cannot afford to fall ill."

     "Are you angry with me, dear heart?" I asked, saddened by the frustration in her voice.

     "No." She hung her head. "I am angry that, no matter what you do, it never seems to be enough. You have yet again ended a great threat to Ferelden, and when you return, your wounds could not even be treated properly. You deserve to be able to rest at last, to enjoy the peace you have brought to this nation, and instead you are bruised and battered and cut and...and now you are ill and..."

     "Leliana," I tucked my finger beneath her chin and lifted her eyes to mine, "I will be all right. This is simply the price that must be paid."

     "Why is it always you who must pay it?" She asked, standing, busying herself by mixing herbs into a poultice, wrapping them in clean linen.

     "Because that is the place I chose to stand." I murmured, standing to comfort her.

     My knee throbbed and I gasped, falling back onto the bed, breathing hard through clenched teeth. Leliana was at my side in an instant, one hand on my uninjured shoulder, the other on my waist. She placed gentle kisses on my brow as I breathed deep and even, biting down on the pain.

     "Stay still." Leliana cautioned, offering a tremulous smile in the glow of the moon and firelight. "I want to take a look at your knee. I do not think anything is broken, but it would be best to be absolutely sure."

     "As you say." I remained seated.

     Leliana placed the poultice across the wound on my shoulder, wrapping it with bandaging to keep it in place, keeping her hand above it for a moment too long, a moment that spoke of her concern and fear and anger. I understood it, intimately. In many moments, I shared it. I, too, wondered what it would be to go a month without injury, a day without pain. However, I found it mattered to me less and less. With Leliana by my side, I would face anything, no matter how terrible it might be.

     "That is all I can do for your shoulder, now." Leliana straightened her shoulder. "Lie back, Salem. I want to take a look at your knee."

     Obedient, I pushed myself back onto the bed, sitting against the pillows, ignoring the throbbing of my shoulder. Leliana helped me ease my legs onto the mattress, taking great care. I said nothing as she fell to the task of examining the swollen, purple and red mess of my knee. She probed the inflamed skin with gentle fingertips and I whimpered at her touch. She glanced up and I shook my head, urging her to continue.

     I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes as she continued to assess the injury, attempting to focus instead on the warmth of her touch and the blessed comfort of her presence. She closed her eyes and continued feeling out the injury, pressing on the bone and the surrounding tissue...watching her skill pained me. When first we met, she knew nothing but the cleaning, stitching, and bandaging of wounds. Through the Blight, she learned at Wynne's side...so much more, enough to be a competent healer in her own right. I knew that most of her knowledge was gained from putting the oft broken pieces and parts of me back together.

     "Finished." She announced and I opened my eyes, smiling at her.

     "And your final verdict?"

     She shook her head, glaring at me with dancing eyes. "As ever, you have a penchant for actively destroying yourself." She confirmed. "But, I am happy to say that the injury to your knee seems to be nothing more than an ugly sprain. I would refrain from putting weight on it for a while, but I assume such a wish would fall on deaf ears?"

     _In another lifetime, you would have been correct. But I...I promised to change, and now that the war is ended, I can at last see such a thing through. Hopefully, Leliana managed to treat the wound on my shoulder before the infection took too firm a hold. I am so tired of the worry in her eyes, and of the burden I place on her shoulders._

     "I will not stir a step until so ordered." I declared, watching with eager interest as her eyes sparked and her mouth quirked up in a smile. "Though I imagine that I will have a difficult time following my own commands..." I looked down at my arm, at a wound taken in the Blackmarsh a fortnight ago. The thin line of the scab still remained and the scar tissue was still a flaming red. "...I seem to heal more slowly as of late."

     Leliana frowned as she rose and soaked a cloth in a bucket of freezing well water. I knew the same thoughts that plagued me also tormented her...she had to have noticed. Injuries that would have been trivial during the Blight had begun to take their toll on my body. Scars took longer to form, bruises longer to fade, and pain had become more insistent. I could still feel twinges from where Esmerelle impaled me. However, neither of us voiced our fears, that it was the taint overtaking my blood, subverting my body's inclination to heal.

     _There must be more time,_ I forced myself to believe. _Not this fast. It cannot possibly be progressing this fast._

     "No more talk like that." Leliana laid the freezing cloth across my knee in an attempt to alleviate the swelling and numb the pain. "Although I do wish Anders were here; he is second only to Wynne in his grasp of healing magic. Your knee could be mended and your shoulder seen to without fear of complications."

     The mention of the mage's name brought back the dark memories and the confusion that my nightmares had been unable to help me sort through. I did not know if I would ever understood what I witnessed...or if I would ever be able to repair the damage done in those tunnels.

     "Anders...will not be returning." I hung my head, wishing that, somehow, I could have done more for the obviously troubled young mage.

     No matter my warnings, no matter my attempts to get him to see reason, Anders remained lost in his bitterness. Even Leliana...even Leliana and her brilliant, gilded tongue had not been able to make headway with him. She had tried explaining to the man that, while the faults he found with the Chantry were well-founded and true, that an uprising of mages would do little to change the world as it stood. The both of us, knowing war as we did, knew that it should be the last attempt to effect change...but Anders would not listen.

     "What happened, Salem?" Leliana asked, reaching out and turning my face towards her. "What happened to write such a darkness in your gaze?"

     "We...we secured the city." I ventured into the tale, forcing the images away...broken bodies, orphaned children screaming in the streets, choking stench of blood and death and fear. "And discovered a tunnel leading into the Deep Roads...just outside the city. As we journeyed in, we met the Architect."

     Leliana's own eyes darkened then. Though she had never met the strange, sentient, monstrous would-be liberator of the darkspawn, she understood his motivations, but loathed his methods. The fact that we were both aware he had stolen my blood...rich and rank with an archdemon's...perfect for tearing the darkspawn from the hive mind and into freedom, had done little to earn the creature my wife's affection.

     "We spoke," I breathed deep, "and it came down to a choice. A choice between him...and the _Mother_." I spat the name he had given to the vile creature, ensconced in relative safety beneath the earth, breeding more hideous children than I could countenance.

     "It was...my second vision." Leliana breathed, recognizing the dilemma from the vision she had on our wedding night...before our hellish separation. "You were forced to choose between two evils. In order for you to live...one of them had to be set free."

     "Yes." I nodded. "I chose the lesser of those evils. Even though it was his forces that attacked Vigil's Keep...the Architect has no war-like agenda. He wants only freedom...freedom for him and his kind. The Mother...it would be yet another full scale war, Leli. A war with an enemy that does not rely on a single voice and mindless violence, but a war against an enemy that strategizes, thinks as we think...an unholy conflict on an epic scale."

     "You made the right decision." Leliana assured me. "It must have been so difficult."

     "Justice went mad." I shuddered, remembering the wicked blue light emanating from the Warden Kristoff's decaying corpse. "He threatened me, citing my destruction and the end of all that I loved if I did not see both the Architect and the Mother suffer for their crimes against humanity. It...it would be so easy, Leliana, if all things on this earth were as plainly delineated as they are in the Fade. But we could not win...no matter our power, we had spent the entire day in combat...there was no way we could achieve a victory."

     "I know, my love." Leliana sat beside me and wrapped her arms around me, drawing me close, kissing the tears that stained my cheeks. "You did what you must, as ever you have."

     "I tried to explain." The sickening feeling of defeat washed over me and I curled my hands into fists, feeling the bite of my nails against my palm. "I tried to _reason_ with him...to no avail. He simply shouted all the more fiercely, declaring how this feckless morality was the core of rot in the human race. That decisions such as the ones I made were the reasons the mages still wore unjust chains...it was the perfect mutiny, Leliana. Anders, at last, had the opportunity to rebel, and an ally I could not hope, in my current, battered state, to battle. He offered Justice a life of seeking truth, fighting for liberty, changing the waking world in a direct manner, not providing silent inspiration from the Fade. I could do nothing to stop them as they...merged."

     I remembered the wash of blinding light, the scent of scorched lyrium in the air, the fear present on all faces, even Oghren's. The overwhelming stench had been that of a dessicated, rotting corpse as Justice's spirit fled Kristoff's body and entered Anders'.

     "It could not have been a more gruesome inharmony." I shuddered, feeling warmth infuse me as Leliana pressed a feather-light kiss to my shoulder. "Nothing like the gentle spirit that Wynne carries within her. Their...joining...was violent, terrifying, against all laws set down by magic and the Maker. Anders put Kristoff's sword to my neck, and his eyes blazed an unreal blue, as he proclaimed that _I_ should be punished for allowing the evildoer to walk free...that _he_ would see justice done...and I knew the man was no longer himself."

     Leliana's fingers absently brushed the red, scabbed line on my throat, her breath shuddering as she realized how close she had come to losing me at the hands of the one who might have been a friend. A small, pained moan broke past her lips and she moved closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder. My heart ached and rejoiced at once, the odd blend of pain and bliss that had become my path in life.

     "At the last moment," I continued the tale, "Anders regained control of himself. There was a wild fear in his eyes, a grim realization of what he had done. He dropped the blade and said that, for my kindness, for giving him a life he did not want, but the freedom that he needed, he would let me live...this one time. Then, he left, not even bothering to support us through the last battle. If ever we meet again, Leliana, he _will_ kill me."

     "Then you must make certain that your paths will never cross." Leliana's voice hardened, cold as steel and twice as sharp. "If their union is anything like that of Wynne and her spirit, Anders will become immensely powerful...and he does not have the age and wisdom to ground him in a sensible course of action. Maker's breath...this world is going to burn. I cannot...I cannot have you burning with it. Your war is done, and you are mine now. I won't lose you."

     "But...what have I done, Leliana?" I asked, feeling guilt and shame claw at my spirit. "What sort of world am I leaving to you?" Tears poured from my eyes afresh.

     "Salem, Salem...hush, love." She pulled me tighter against her and pressed her lips against the wound on my throat. "You have done all you can, and that is worlds more than any other living being could achieve. It is not the kingdoms we build on this earth that matter, not the cities of stick and stone and thatch, but the kingdoms crafted from heart to heart. Let enemies assail us, let stones be broken, let cities burn...for that which is in our hearts lives on."

     "But..."

     "You have built for us a beautiful world, Salem. A world that once existed only in legends. Where heroes were kind, compassionate...so very, very human. I have seen the sum of salvation in your eyes, the greatness that lies within your heart. And I am blinded by its beauty. Let this business with Anders trouble you no further."

     "Why should I not?" I asked, wondering if I had doomed myself to another quest, another mission that would take me away from her. "Is it not my duty to seek him out, to keep him from harming himself or another?"

     "Because that is not meant for you." She spoke with the surety of one who could gaze into the future. "Because you did not create him. You gave a man in chains as much freedom as you could, and it still was not enough. The flaw is in his soul, not your choices." Her words ministered to me and I fell in love with her again. "You were promised a life of peace, but it is _you_ who must see that promise through, my love. You are not this world's sole protector, and there is no shame in that. There is no shame in letting yourself live."

     I allowed her words to soak into me, like balm into a burn. _A life of peace...the opportunity to be a woman of peace. Yes, this fate was promised. But, in order to accept it, I must learn to look at this life with different eyes. The warden's reach is far...and I am certain that Woolsey will alert the First Warden immediately to Anders' rebellion...the end result does not bode well, but it is long past time I cease concerning myself with such things. I am sworn to my wife, I am sworn to this land, and I will cling to this hard-won peace for as long as it may last._

     "Spring is almost upon us." I altered the subject, turning it to more joyous matters. "What would you say to celebrating the healing of a land?"

     "Yes." She hugged me closer. "Of course, yes." She pressed her lips to my cheek and pulled away, frowning.

     Her hands framed my face, wiping away the remnants of my tears. Still, the concern did not leave her eyes, and she pressed her forehead against mine. She rested her hand near the bandage on my shoulder.

     "You're warmer than before." She murmured. "Lie down, Salem. Close your eyes."

     I obeyed, closing my eyes, soothed a moment later as a cool cloth bathed my face, cleaning away the sweat and tears, cooling the fire beginning to burn beneath my skin.

     "Let there be dancing, joy and song; let life be new again." My wife's lilting accent made the old poem ring fresh in my mind, full of beauty and promise. "Celebrate, love, and laugh once more; let anguish fade, and peace begin."


	38. Watching Her Fade

**Five Months Later**

**Leliana**

     Varel nudged open the door, sifting through a stack of folded parchment. "Royal correspondence for you, arle..." He looked up and I smiled at him, watching as he closed his eyes and sighed. "My apologies, Lady Leliana, but would it be too much of an imposition on your wife to keep set times in her office?"

     "Varel," I rose from behind Salem's simple desk and relieved him of his burden, "why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer?"

     He nodded in mute resignation and removed the letter he had been seeking from the beginning. It bore the Theirin seal in crimson wax, and had been addressed to Salem in Alistair's own, scrawling hand.

     "And where might I find our errant arlessa?" He asked, a longsuffering look in his kind blue eyes.

     "I shall deliver it." I replied, plucking the missive from his hand. "If I must read and sign one more document, then I believe my eyes shall cross and remain there, forever fixed in that absurd position. Besides," I looked through the window to the sun, savoring the slight, warm breeze that entered, "it is quite a beautiful day, and it would be a shame to waste it within four walls."

     "Signing documents?" Varel's eyes narrowed. "Is that not a task reserved for those who wear the title of liege lord?"

     I tossed a canny smile at him. "Did I never mention that exact forgery was among my many dubious talents?" I asked, grinning as the man paled to a delightful shade of ashen grey.

     "I am beginning to have sympathy for that viper accountant sent by the wardens." Varel bemoaned his fate. "However, none would believe the tales that come from this province..."

     I patted the man on the shoulder as I made for the exit. "Do not begrudge her a day in the sun, Varel." I encouraged him, my throat tightening with repressed sorrow.

     I did not say the words that we both knew followed my first statement. That there might not be that many days left to her.

     _These past months,_ I squeezed my traitorous eyes closed as they threatened me with tears, _have been so wonderful. Amaranthine is prospering again; the dark times have faded. Yes, there were trials, discontented nobles stripped of their high standard of living, court squabbles, the typical bandits, mercenaries, wild animals...but the guard and militia do not lack for soldiers in their ranks, and Salem's form of justice has been greeted with respect and approval from her people. The commoners know that they have her ear, her respect...they trust her...they **love** her. _

     _Even now,_ I smiled as I shielded my eyes from the sun as I walked into the fields that lay beyond Vigil's Keep, searching for Salem's tall, broad shouldered figure, _she works among her people, sharing in the hard labor of the harvest._

     However, it was no secret to any who worked within the Keep and those who knew Salem well...her vibrant life was fading. I rose each morning, despising the fate that had done this to the woman I loved so dearly. Her sleep had grown more troubled than it was during the Blight...she scarcely slept at all. Her right leg, permanently injured at Fort Drakon, grew weaker still, though Salem remained too stubborn to resort to a cane. After her battle with the Mother, the infected wound on her shoulder left her to the mercy of a fever that burned for seven days and, in the months that followed, I watched as her resistance to illness grew weaker and weaker still. Even so, she remained steadfast and strong, working through the long hours she did not sleep, striving to make the lives of the men and women of Amaranthine better. Easing their troubles. Granting them safety and a measure of self-rule that few others possessed.

     I caught sight of her at last, standing tall in a field of billowing, golden wheat. I stopped, watching as her powerful arms swung the sickle as dexterously as she once wielded her blades. In this moment, I could pretend that all was well; that her skin had not paled further, that the dark circles beneath her eyes were a temporary malady. In this moment, I could reflect on these perfect months we had spent with each other, in love, in life, in utter and absolute bliss...and not torment myself with the knowledge that it would end.

     _So beautiful,_ I thought, treading delicately amidst the shorn wheat. _Maker, when you formed her from the beginning, did you know you would create something so flawless? Did you know that her trials and troubles would but brighten her steel, and cut her diamond into a gem of such magnitude and worth that the world trembles?_

     "Salem?" I called, watching as she turned, as her silver-blue eyes sparked with heat and passion, an expression that had never changed, no matter what we endured.

     "Do my eyes deceive me?" She asked, rubbing sweat from her brow and leaving a roguish streak of dirt. "Or does a goddess walk among men?"

     Still, _still_ , I blushed at the compliment, delivered in a low voice that never failed to send shivers down my spine. I gathered my fraying composure and managed to conjure a look of playful disapproval.

     "Flattery will gain you nothing." I chided, though I did not mean it. "You are in quite the bit of trouble, Arlessa Cousland. Varel is not quite pleased with our arrangement for your signatures."

     Salem laughed, a song whose melody I would never tire of. "Is that so?" She asked, leaning down and stealing a kiss as I approached. "I thought my scheme quite brilliant...alas...it would seem I have no skill for dodging the iron-clad rules of law."

     I took her hand in mine, startled to find that, even in the heat of the day, and despite the work she had been doing, her skin was cold. I tried to control the worry that flitted across my face, but I had never been able to hide anything from her.

     "What troubles you, dear heart?" The familiar question, in a tone that had rescued me from nightmares, eased my frantic thoughts, and comforted me in my darkest moments.

     "Are you certain you are not over-exerting yourself?" I asked, dreading the calm, flippant answer that traditionally greeted these inquiries.

     Salem looked to the sky, her brow furrowed with thought. "I would not contest the notion." She grinned, but her honesty touched me. "I must say I would not mind escaping from the heat and partaking of food and drink with an extraordinary goddess."

     I wrapped my arm around her, providing intimacy and support, for both her and myself. "Unfortunately, the goddess sent word. Her caravan was delayed, and you shall have to make do with my company."

     Salem grinned at the weak jest. "I suppose I can resign myself." She pressed her lips against my hair, her gentle touch quickening the beat of my heart.

     "You are incorrigible." I muttered.

     Several of the workers called out to us as we continued towards the Keep, thanking Salem, smiling widely at a noble woman with dirt caked beneath her fingernails and smudged across her face. A woman who wore roughspun linen and dull, patched leather boots, who held herself as one of them...a servant and worker of the land. Pride surged through me and I held her tighter, cherishing her nearness, her strength, her...her sheer _magnificence_.

     We entered the Keep and adjourned to Salem's office. She sat down and stared at the mountains of paperwork with such dread that I laughed. She glared at me with false anger.

     "By all means," She instructed, gesturing to the mess, "mock me in my misery."

     "Misery that you have managed to thrust upon me." I nodded, wagging my finger in a decent mimicry of Wynne's disapproval. "Countless times, might I add. You are fortunate that I have not incited a rebellion against you."

     Salem smiled and I shook my head as I thrust Alistair's letter into her hand. "Varel was adamant that you receive this as soon as possible. Water or wine, my love?"

     "Water, please." She requested, her smile replaced by a look of smouldering desire that made me weak in the knees.

     I fetched our drinks and returned to find Salem pondering the letter, scarcely looking at me as I handed her the cup of water. "Is everything all right?" I asked, taking the seat across from her and lifting my wine to my lips, savoring the delicate flavor of Amaranthine's finest vintage.

     "We've been summoned to Denerim." Salem said, still examining the letter with a dubious expression. "In three months time."

     "Not another Landsmeet, I should hope." I shuddered, remembering the last one that had been called, the hours of endless debate about King Alistair's proposed integration of mages into the populace.

     The king and my wife won that day, persuading their fellow nobles to see the unfair restrictions that had been placed upon the mages, and by promising careful oversight by the templar order. Eamon backed them that day, though his own experience at the hands of magic had been anything but pleasant. The fact that the man placed such trust in Alistair swayed many of the other recalcitrant nobles, and Salem had been naught but laughter and smiles during the journey home. Her eyes were afire, doubtless thinking of Wynne, who would see those she considered her siblings and children at last allowed to live life in the manner they saw fit.

     Slowly, mages deemed safe by their templar guards were allowed to move away from the Circle, settling in villages as healers and teachers. Alistair funded the building of schools and, all across Ferelden, children were beginning to be taught how to read, to do mathematics, instructed in the history of kingdoms and the history of magic. As Salem had so often said, those who learned more of what they feared began to fear it less. Thus far, the trial was working and Wynne had sent word thanking my wife, rejoicing that the children she mentored would, some day, be able to leave the Circle and live in the world as free citizens.

     "Not another Landsmeet, thank the Maker." Salem's eyebrow quirked upward. "It would seem that Alistair is to take a wife, and we are required to be there at the wedding."

     "Truly?" My heart filled with delight, pure, unadulterated joy at the thought of Alistair at last having found one to stand with him, to rule by his side, to be a support and friend in dark times.

     It was no secret that the king had loved Salem. He would have given her his heart, his crown, his kingdom, and his undying love without a thought. I knew the grip of that love, its fierceness, its unending ache and longing. That he had managed to sever himself from such pain and find peace and a companion gladdened me to no end.

     "Yes." Salem nodded, tracing her scarred fingers over the wounds I could not see. "So it would seem."

     "What are you concealing from me, Salem?" I asked. "I would have thought such news would thrill you as it does me."

     "Make no mistake, I am thrilled for him...but I am afraid this news will not please you, Leliana." My wife looked across the desk, the mirth in her eyes dampened by wariness.

     _How would it not please me?_ "Tell me, Salem."

     "It would seem our beloved king has at last found one worthy to rule at his side." Salem handed me the parchment, and I took it, paling as I read the name that Salem spoke. "The first knight of the realm...Ser Miranda Cauthrien."


	39. Old Wounds Revisited

**Salem**

     _I should have noticed_ , I mused, watching Leliana, intent on deciphering her reaction to this unexpected news. _Cauthrien sat so close to him at the Landsmeet, gauging every noble's speech, whispering in Alistair's ear. But never once did he give **any** inclination that he cared for her as more than an advisor, more than the knight she swore to be and the position he appointed her to. _

     "Leliana?" I asked, noticing that her face had gone the stark white shade indicative of wrath, and her expression become a study in fury. "Leliana, is everything all right?"

     She flung Alistair's letter down on the desk and stood, holding her glass in a white-knuckled grip. "What do you think, Salem?" She asked, her voice flat and accent thick. "The man is marrying a traitor, and you have the _gall_ to ask me if I am _all right_!?"

     I remained seated, having feared this reaction. Leliana had refused to even look Cauthrien's way during the last Landsmeet, although the woman at least attempted giving a civil greeting to both of us.

     _However, I knew the woman she was...before Loghain wrapped his claws around her and filled her head with exaggerated realities of dreams she held from girlhood. A child of a noble house, though her family's wealth ran dry, their lands were foreclosed on...she still had the opportunity to better her station through knighthood. And that is all she wanted, to bring honor to her country and, later, much later, to Loghain...the man who became her patron, elevating her from a rank and file soldiers and allowing her to place food on her family's table._

     "Do you intend to sit there, silent as a stone?" Leliana demanded, draining her glass and slamming it atop the desk in an uncharacteristic display of frustration and wrath.

     I glanced at the cup, noticing the imprints of her fingers in the soft metal. I looked up to see her oceanic eyes, tossed and churning like stormy seas, not the calm welcome I had become accustomed to.

     "What could I say, Leliana?" I asked, lifting my hands, palm-up, in question. "That I am unhappy? That I am displeased? In truth, I can find nothing but joy in my heart for Alistair. Why would you begrudge him this?"

     Leliana raised her brow and her lips trembled. "What in hell is _wrong_ with you!?" She demanded. "Do you not even _recall_ what that...that _bitch_ did to you!? Have you gone blind to your scars, for I still _see_ them, Salem! Every _fucking_ night, I witness the wreck that her and those like her have visited on you, and you ask that I be _happy_ that she is being _rewarded_ for her _crimes_!?"

     "No." I shook my head.

     "Then what do you want!?" She demanded, flinging her hands into the air in desperation. "This...this is all too much, too soon, and I..." She tangled her hand in her hair and looked out of the window with a truly desolate expression. "...I need to think."

     "Leli..."

     "No." She grappled for words and I could see the torment in her eyes; that she had been back-spiraled into terrifying memories of our past. "She _hurt_ you, Salem. You were more _dead_ than _alive_ when I dragged you out of her clutches, and I nearly _lost_ you!" Hot, wretched tears filled her eyes and spilled forth.

     I rose from my chair and walked to her, holding her shoulders in my hands. She trembled beneath my touch, her eyes fixed on mine, filled with the terror and pain of remembered days.

     "You were in so much pain." Her voice emerged as a whimper of remembered anguish. "So very, very ill. I have...I have nightmares of those days, Salem. I cannot...I cannot..."

     She pulled from my grasp and walked from the room. I turned back to the desk, staring at the letter, fighting my own mind to comprehend my lover's pain.

     I harbored no ill-will towards Miranda Cauthrien...I never had. In a different time, in a different life, our positions could so easily have been reversed. I knew the woman had done what she thought best, that she labored beneath the lies of a man who had won her full loyalty, her full trust, to the point where she believed his deceit above the evidence of her own eyes.

     _Knowing this...knowing **her**...how can I resent her actions? She was no Rendon Howe, driven by greed and madness. She did what she thought she must...as I did...so many times. How can I justify my own actions as better than her own? _

     I rubbed the scar in the center of my palm, the faint white line, a harsh reminder of a knife that had been driven through my skin and into the floor of that fetid, filthy dungeon. Before a storm, my chest became a crushing agony as the bones she ordered broken remembered snapping beneath the blows of gauntleted hands. There were notches in the shells of my ears from the night I lay on filthy, frigid stone and could not fight the rats as they ate my flesh. Cauthrien smeared all manner of vile, putrid muck into my open wounds and I nearly perished from the infection.

     _That must have shattered Leliana,_ I thought, forcing myself to move, even though my muscles ached and my joints protested. _Not simply to walk into a dungeon, but to see me so weak, so vulnerable and broken...by Cauthrien's hand. Her vigil over me never waned, and I saw it slice at her spirit and soul. I understand, dear heart...it is so much more difficult to forgive those who have harmed those we love, rather than those who have harmed us._

     I strode from the room, knowing that I would find Leliana walking the parapets of Vigil's Keep, as she often did when she needed time for contemplation. Above the now lively little town that had arisen outside the Keep, there was a singular peace to be found in the wind's constant song. Both Leliana and I had spent too much time in the dark below, where most would find suitable solitude and hiding place. We sought out high places, such as the one where I found her now, pacing forth and back. She paused for a moment, overlooking the rocky hills whose other side framed the rugged coastline of Amaranthine.

     "Leliana." I called to her as she moved like a tiger in a cage, pent-up wrath and bitterness.

     "I do not wish to hear it, Salem." She waved me away with a dismissive gesture. "No more explanations or reasons, no impassioned declarations of the sanctity of _forgiveness_! Can you not, _for once_ , let me grapple with my own demons?"

     I smiled and leaned against the stone arch of the doorway. "As you have ever done for me?"

     She drew in a deep breath, preparing for another tirade, but she stopped, visibly deflating. "You have learned _too_ well." She sighed and chose a precarious perch on the battlements. "Turning my own thoughts and words against me. Quite bardic, my love."

     "We are both guilty of the crime of knowing and loving each other too well." I sat beside her and wrapped my arm around her waist.

     "I am ready for your sermon." Leliana rested her head on my shoulder and I ran my fingers through the flame-red hair she had let grow long once more.

     "I have none." Her nose bumped my jaw as she pulled away to stare at me in shock.

     "The great Salem Cousland at a loss for a moral lesson?" she asked with a humored, incredulous tone. "What is this world coming to?"

     _An end...at least...for me. I know that you see it, but neither of us say anything, lest we tempt time to move faster. Let me give you one thing more, Leliana. At least let me try...to set your heart at ease. So that, in three months time, we can both celebrate the finding of a love._

     "Let me tell you a story, Leliana." I smiled as she narrowed her eyes. "And see, if at its ending, you might not find your perception somewhat changed."


	40. Old Wounds Reopened

**Leliana**

     I settled into the warmth of Salem's arms, watching as her scarred eyes faded back to the past of a war-torn country, a land in peril...much as it had been in our lifetime. Unlike her, however, a child born into battle and raised with a knowledge of conflict, I was a child of intrigue, brought up in a land of secrets. We were opposites from the moment of our birth, with different knowledges and strengths. I waited for her to speak, attempting to calm the anger burning in my heart, the feeling of betrayal I felt at the invitation of a man who had been my friend and Salem's brother. 

     _The man who helped me carry her from Howe's dungeon, who held her battered, bleeding body and saw the woman he loved laid low and nearly murdered by the traitor he would now take to wife! The very thought is...is **unforgivable.**_

     "Cauthrien was a vassal house." Salem began her tale, her voice entrancing, soothing, as though trained for the bardic arts. "When Ferelden was under Orlesian rule, Lane Cauthrien, Miranda's father, would have been the equivalent of a lord. When Maric, my father, and Loghain called a war council, Lane was the first there, offering his troops, his home, and whatever else he could to aid the effort for freedom. Miranda," She spoke the woman's first name with an air of affection that grated against my ears, "was like me. A child born of battle."

     _How...how can she feel a kinship with that woman? Were I to greet the faces of any of my torturers again, they would meet with a quick end. There can be **no** sympathy for one who sinks to those depths. None!_

     "But the war with Orlais bankrupted Lane." Salem shook her head. "He gave up everything, Leliana. He sold acres and acres of his land, his knights perished, his coffers ran dry. At the end of everything, when Maric was crowned king, Lane Cauthrien and his family were little more than paupers. He had sold his estates to a rich merchant to see to the arming of his soldiers, and moved his wife and daughter to a small farmstead, the last holdings he had in his name. The crown...the crown simply did not have enough gold to make reparations to those who lost everything, and Miranda's mother was no Eleanor Cousland."

     I raised my brow in question and Salem smiled. "While father was off fighting," She explained, "my mother ran the accounts with sharp eyes and razor wit, investing, trading with other countries, promising interests in a freed Ferelden that were too profitable to pass up. She took advantage of the war, smuggling goods out of Highever and into foreign lands, dodging tariffs and the exorbitant fees of merchants and fences, keeping our supply of gold well in hand. Lane...Lane was not so lucky."

     _Funny,_ I looked at Salem in a new light, _I would never have thought that she inherited her strategic mind from her mother...her father was the soldier and yet...how easy it is to see. How very much I wish I could have known them, Salem. How I wish they had not been torn from you in such a cruel manner._

     "But, Lane Cauthrien was a good man, an honest man, and a consummate soldier." Salem pressed forward. "He accepted his lot and retained his title, for all the good it did in a rebuilding country. Maric, under Loghain's advice, named new nobles, and another family rose to power in Lane Cauthrien's province, and his family was all but forgotten. Lane consigned himself to being a noble in name only, and became a simple farmer, but Miranda...she grew up on the tales of battle, of the heroism of Ferelden knights and soldiers. She fought and fought for the chance, entering local festival tournaments, hoping to catch the eye of someone wealthy enough to become her patron. But no one would."

     "You would turn her tale into a tragedy in order to garner my sympathy?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and feeling a spark of anger. "Do not trifle with me, Salem."

     "I am not turning her tale into anything other than what it is." Salem smiled at me with such warmth that the layer of ice surrounding my heart began to give way. "Miranda's fate changed during the harvest season. She saw a man alone, besieged and outnumbered by bandits. She went to his aid, cutting his attackers down with a simple sickle. After dispatching them, she took the man into her home and tended his wounds. That man," Salem's brow creased, "was Loghain Mac Tir."

     Realization flooded over me. "Then that is how..."

     "Yes." Salem nodded. "He gave her everything she dreamed of. Honor for her family, a blade in her hand, the remembrance of the name Cauthrien. Loghain took her under his wing, pulled her from a life of ignominy, and she _slaved_ for his approval. Nothing was good enough. She built her strength until she could wield the Summer Sword, a blade no man can lift. He was her paragon, her driving force, the one she would give _anything_ to please...and thus she followed his orders; believed his words above the evidence of her eyes."

     Salem turned her eyes to mine; they were deep and full of sorrow, sorrow for the next words that fell from her lips. "Do you see, Leliana? Do you understand? There is," She winced and pinched the bridge of her nose, "there is so much similar between you and Miranda Cauthrien. For, at one time, would you not have done the same for Marjolaine?"

     I gasped as her question cut through my flesh and my heart, pulling the organ from my chest and baring it to the merciless heat of the sun.

     "How...how _dare_ you!" I pulled away from her and struck her across the cheek with an open palm, stunned by the audacity of her inquiry. "How _dare_ you even _consider_ the possibility that I have _anything_ in common with that...that..."

     "woman." Salem muttered, holding her hand to her reddened cheek. "A simple, eager woman...granted the life that she desired, the approval of a powerful patron, possessed of a cunning mind and ruthless agenda."

     Her words continued to slice at me, a calm, quiet yearning for me to step outside of myself and see...see this in the manner that she herself did.

     "Would...would you not have done the same?" Salem entreated, begging me to prove her wrong, knowing that I could not. "Had Marjolaine not betrayed you, would you not have obeyed her every order, even against your own thoughts and conscience? Even unto the torture of an innocent woman?"

     "Stop." I begged, knowing that I had no right to ask for her forgiveness, knowing that I had indeed committed Cauthrien's crimes, over, over, and over again. "Salem, please, stop; I...I cannot bear this!"

     Salem rose and I backed away from her, wanting to hide from the woman I struck, who looked at me with nothing but kindness...kindness I did not deserve. My cheeks heated and flushed with shame as I saw the imprint of my hand against her pale skin.

     _She has **never** hurt me...not with intention, and the same is true even now. And yet my hand lashed out in anger and I...Maker's breath, what sort of woman am I..._

     "This is not an accusation, Leliana." Salem reached for me and I backpedaled, turning to flee somewhere quiet, somewhere cold, where I did not have to face my reaction to the woman who saved my soul and continued even now in her attempt to preserve it.

     Strong arms wrapped around me and pulled me into a fierce embrace as tears flooded my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I sobbed in her arms, for I did not feel I deserved her comfort. She spoke to me with the most gentle of rebukes, and I struck her for it. Yet, even now, she held me.

     "I know, dear heart." She whispered to me. "I know you so well; I love you so much. You react in anger because you have changed, because you do not wish to think upon the woman who loved Marjolaine. The woman Miranda Cauthrien was when she committed her treason. You react in anger because you fear that, at one time, you might have committed Cauthrien's crimes against someone like me."

     Her words were a balm to the wounds her tale had opened. Her confession of love, her intimate knowledge of me, gave me such perfect peace. _You know me as none other ever could, Salem. You took the time...the time to pull back all the layers of my heart and read the words, memories, and regrets written into each of them. Still, **still** , I find myself lacking when I stand beside you. _

     "I am not asking you to forgive Miranda Cauthrien." Salem whispered, kissing my neck. "But please, Leliana...forgive the woman who loved Marjolaine. Forgive the Nightingale, dear heart."

     "I..." I breathed, stunned by the request. "...I have accepted her, as who I once was and what I once did..."

     "It _isn't_ the same." Salem stressed. "Acceptance is important, essential even, but forgiveness _must_ follow."

     I crumbled in her arms. I, who had spoken to Kathyra about forgiveness of self, who had begged Salem to do the same...had failed in the undertaking. I had accepted the Nightinagle's gifts, and even her actions, but never let myself forget the _nightmares_ that she wrought on others, on the whim of... _how true Salem's words are..._ a powerful patron, possessed of a cunning mind and ruthless agenda.

     "How?" I asked, lost yet again, looking to my warden for strength and knowledge and compassion I did not deserve. "Have you? If so, please tell me... _how_?"

     That devastating smile lit her eyes. "I have." She answered. "I have, Leliana, but only because someone _truly_ good, someone that I _love_ beyond comprehension has forgiven me my every transgression."

     "Do you..." My lips trembled, my words quavering as I stood in the presence of the purest heart of all Thedas.

     "Every sin." She promised, sealing it with a tender kiss. "Every action for which you feel guilt. You are flawless in my eyes, Leliana."

     "As is Miranda Cauthrien." I realized, amazed at the depth of the heart of Salem Cousland.

     "Yes." She nodded. "Do not think I do not remember. Those moments still haunt my dreaming as well, and I feel every pull of the scar tissue, every ache of the broken bones, every lancet of pain from the injuries. But it serves as a reminder of how far we can fall...and rise again. Cauthrien has nothing, Leliana. She has a knight's title and a pittance of an inheritance. It is no political tether that binds them. Alistair loves her, Leliana, in spite of her flaws, her faults, and her crimes. If we believe that we can change and have changed...we must accord her that same grace."

     "As you have accorded me. As you love me." I replied, beginning to tremble at the magnitude of her beauty.

     Her hand reached out and cupped my cheek. "No." She whispered. "As _you_ , Leliana, have ever loved _me_."

     _How,_ my thoughts rushed through me in a torrent of emotions, guilt, joy, fear... _ **love**...how do you always manage to see the best in me, Salem? You take what I have hidden, deep within myself...and you make it **shine.**_

     "I...I am sorry I struck you." I shook my head, wondering at my stupidity.

     "Think nothing of it." She murmured, kissing my forehead and leading me back inside the Keep. "Would you be averse to writing and confirming our appearance at the wedding?" She asked, a roguish smile on her lips. "I would do it myself, but...your handwriting is so elegant."

     The abrupt change of subject confused me and I stared at her. "What bearing has that in this situation?"

     Salem grinned and squeezed my hand. "It will be so very _difficult_ for him to read it!" She exclaimed, descending into infectious laughter.

     _You make my heart so light,_ I leaned into her as we walked down the stairs. _It is a testament to the true measure of your strength, my love. Please, dear Maker,_ I prayed, _let me have this...have **her**...a little longer. _


	41. A Royal Wedding

** Three Months Later **

**Salem**

     Tears filled my eyes as sunlight filtered through the high windows of the Great Hall of Fort Drakon. Alistair stood beside Cauthrien, their hands bound together by a length of delicate, white silk, signifying the Maker's blessings upon their vows. 

     _Leliana and I had no cord to bind us,_ I thought, looking to my wife, who schooled her features into an expression of suitable solemnity. _Though, if we had, it would have been stained crimson, for the blood that we have spilled together, the passion that binds us, and the tears we have shed._

     Vows were exchanged, and the Revered Mother smiled as she proclaimed them man and wife, king and queen. Alistair kissed his bride before all assembled, and I smiled as I noticed the faint blush in his tanned cheeks. He had retained a youthful innocence that I envied, a hesitance in the face of intimacy that did not speak of ignorance, but of a great value placed on love.

     Light radiated from Cauthrien's soul, shining out from her eyes and her countenance as she returned the kiss with equal ardor. A faint sound turned my head from the tableau. I turned to see Leliana's face streaked with tears, her lips trembling. Her eyes met mine and her hands reached out. I threaded my fingers through her own, holding tight to her.

     "I understand." She whispered so that her voice did not carry, and break the sacredness of this moment. "At last, Salem, I understand."

     I squeezed the hand that I held and turned my gaze once more to the dais. Miranda Cauthrien knelt and the Revered Mother anointed her brow with sweet-smelling, consecrated oil. Alistair beamed as the leader of the Denerim Chantry set aside the oil and took up a simple, gold crown, setting it about Miranda's temples.

     "The heart of a country must lie with its queen." The Revered Mother spoke. "As the king protects, so must the queen defend. You are sword and shield, separate but equal. Rule in mercy and kindness, gentility and grace. Know ever that you are the servant of the people, and that the crown you wear does not speak of elevation, but of devotion. In all your decisions, remain faithful to the Maker, and follow in His will. Do you accept this adjuration?"

     "So I swear." Cauthrien spoke the old words with clarity, with strength, and with a whole heart.

     "Then go forth in the Maker's grace, Miranda Theirin," The Revered Mother intoned, "and rise a queen."

     Alistair knelt beside his wife, took her hand once more, and they stood together as one. The faced the court, smiling, and Arl Eamon strode forward, a grin splitting his face.

     "Nobles of the court, people of Ferelden!" He thundered, full of joy. "King Alistair and Queen Miranda Theirin! Let us rejoice!"

     The room burst into applause and raucous cheering, nearly deafening me as the sound rose and crested like a wave. Alistair could not wipe the smile from his face, and I found myself mirroring his expression. As the new couple descended the stairs, a hush fell over the crowd, and we knelt as one in an expression of fealty to our king and his new bride, the one woman I knew who could reign properly at his side.

     _She has learned._ I allowed another chapter of my life to close, a wound to scar at last, so that the pain of it might cease. _She has learned to be gentle; she has learned that kindness is not a weakness, that mercy does not bespeak a wavering resolve. Thank you, my Maker, for allowing Alistair a queen of beauty and strength, who can love him as he deserves to be loved...as I never could._

     Alistair stopped and raised his hand, allowing us to rise to our feet. He cleared his throat and ran his fingers across the full beard that he had grown. "I have never stood on ceremony." He claimed, and several of the nobles who lived in Denerim snickered and giggled. "Therefore, I shall not dampen the ardor of this occasion with long, over-indulgent speeches. Instead, let us celebrate a time of peace, a time of bounty, and a year of blessing! Tonight, Ferelden, we feast! We dance! We _live!_ "

     Another roar issued from the crowd and Leliana slipped her arm about my waist, leaning in close. "He has grown eloquent." She murmured, her voice cutting through the din. "Though, I have to admit, he learned from one whose speeches know no equal."

     I narrowed my eyes and smiled at my beautiful wife. "Is something amiss? You are not normally one given to complimenting yourself, dear heart."

     She smacked me on the arm in feigned indignation as music began to fill the hall. I spun in front of Leliana and guided her out onto the floor as Alistair led the first dance with his queen. Leliana pressed close against me as we moved in accordance with the rhythm of the strings, and my heart felt as though it might burst from joy.

     I held her close to me as we danced, remembering the hardships that we had endured, the sorrow and the suffering that had, at times, separated us, only to bring us back into each other's arms again and again and again.

     _I wish never to depart from this embrace._

     In spite of my thoughts, my dreams, my hopes, I could feel time pressing heavily on my shoulders, dragging me further and further away from life. I could feel the heat in my blood, and though I could convince myself, on occasion, that it was the fire of lust, or love, or anger...I knew, in my heart, the truth of it. Infection. Taint. Darkness. The last few months had seen me feeling more and more the pain of old wounds, and spiking the odd fever with no other signs or symptoms of illness. I knew it was the taint taking hold and soon, much sooner than I wanted, it would own me completely.

     "Stop." Leliana murmured against my chest. "No dark thoughts on this day, my love."

     "As you say." I pressed a kiss to her hair as the music faded and I felt an authoritative tap on my shoulder.

     "Again, sister?" Fergus teased. "How am I to find my bliss if you continue to monopolize the beautiful women of Ferelden?"

     "It is the Maker you must blame for your unappealing countenance, Fergus, not I." I returned his jest and turned aside, allowing him to bow before Leliana.

     "Might I have the pleasure of a dance?" He asked.

     "Of course." Leliana stepped gracefully from my arms into his, winking at me as the music began again and Fergus guided her into the steps of a complicated dance...movements that old injuries would no longer let me accomplish.

     I took a cup of wine from a passing server and leaned against the wall, savoring the sight of my wife and brother laughing and enjoying themselves. I prayed that she would continue to dance, to laugh, to sing and rejoice in life's pleasures after I was gone. This...this would be a permanent separation. But I would wait for her...my last love. My perfect love.

     "Still avoiding ceremony, are we, Cousland?" A dark voice roused me from my musings and I looked up to see the queen standing before me.

     I fought the stiffness in my right leg and knelt before her, obeying laws and tradition, adhering to my position as an arlessa. "My queen." I greeted the woman who placed me in chains, reviled me, torn my skin, and broken my bones.

     _Actions based upon the ferocity of her beliefs. Ferocity that, if turned to the nature of Alistair's beliefs, will make her a most excellent ruler._

     "If there is one soul in all of Ferelden whose fealty I will _not_ abide, it is yours." Miranda claimed, kneeling before me and aiding me back to my feet. "If you _ever_ bow before me again, Salem Cousland, you will know my wrath."

     _I doubt I shall ever look on you again, Miranda,_ I thought, dismal.

     "Alistair could not have chosen better, my queen." I told her, watching a war take place inside her dark eyes.

     She stood before me for a reason, spoke to me for a reason. However, she maintained a careful distance between us, afraid of me. Afraid to tread where she had no right. As my body bore the scars of our time together, so did her soul and psyche.

     "Do you," Her pale skin flushed, "do you truly believe so?"

     "I do." I looked towards my warden brother, my king, as he fought the erratic motions of a decidedly flirtatious elderly arlessa. "Though with the dearth of other suitable prospects, I might perhaps concede his choice of you to your age alone."

     The knight stiffened and sought my features for illumination. I grinned to let her know my words had been in jest.

     "I...I thought you would be furious." Her expression spoke of long worry. "I know...I know the strength of your bond with Alistair, and given our past history..."

     "I forgave you long ago." I waved aside her anxiety. "Here, in this very hall. There is no bad blood between us, Miranda."

     She shook her head and winced as she adjusted the uncomfortable crown. "Maker's breath, Cousland. _What_ are you? You do not break; you do not hold a grudge...you are every inch a queen, and this crown should have been yours."

     "No." I lowered my eyes. "The crown sits on the right brow, Miranda. Though I would ask a favor of you, your highness."

     "You try my patience, Cousland." She quipped. "Name it."

     "Treat him well." I requested, gesturing to Alistair as he guided yet another terrible dancer across the floor. "Do not question him, save in your moments of privacy. Support him before his people; _love_ him with an open heart. Be honest with him always, in disappointment and approval."

     "You ask me to treat him as you did." She muttered.

     "Oh, no." I laughed aloud, earning a narrow gaze from the knight. "I told the man he was a fool to his face on many occasions, declined his advice multiple times...I lied to him so that he would succeed where I knew he could. I was his mother, then his mentor, now his sister. I jammed a crown around his head and he has not hated me for it. _That_ is the man that is Alistair Therin."

     "I held the gates with him, when the archdemon came." Miranda whispered, her eyes glowing as they watched Alistair, holding the same light I knew dwelt in my own gaze when I looked at Leliana. "He stood there, so brave and bold, before what I thought was an unstoppable force. I watched Cailan at Ostagar, charging into battle full of bravado and dreams of grandeur...he thought to ear his father's title, but kingship cannot be earned. I want nothing to do with the crown, Cousland...I love him for the man that he is."

     "I know. And I know you had no designs on the crown. You are not that manner of woman." I smiled, baffling her yet again. "Make him happy, Miranda. For the sake of one who could not, I beg you, make him happy."

     The knight's eyes narrowed and filled with knowledge only one given to battle and death could possess. "You sound like a soldier who knows they will not return from war."

     I nodded, watching as Alistair searched the room, his brown eyes sparking as they settled on his queen. "I am." I spoke as he moved towards her. "You will not see me again, Miranda."

     Sorrow filled her eyes and she nodded. "I understand, then, the favors that you asked. I know I have little right to say this, but trust me, Salem. Alistair will be cared for. He will be loved."

     The king appeared and fetched his bride as a lively jig began to play. "Thank you, Miranda."

     I watched them frolic on the dance floor, full of light and flush with love. Warmth filled my heart, intermingled with grief. Grief, for all that they had found would soon be lost to me.

     "Be well, Alistair." I whispered, turning my gaze from him and seeking Leliana...to grasp what joy was left, and forsake all else.


	42. Dancing on Death's Door

**Leliana**

     I tapped my foot to the rhythm of the music, the gentle beat of drums, the lilting of flutes, the pulsing serenade of strings. I caught my breath from the recent vigorous number and watched the poetry of the other dancers as they spoke in a much more honest language. While there was joy here, there was fury as well. I could see anger on the faces of elderly arls and banns, men and women who had imagined their daughter becoming queen. They had not anticipated a man like Alistair...a man who would wed for no reason less than love itself. 

     _No matter the situation, the body will always betray a lie before the mind,_ Marjolaine's advice slithered through my thoughts. _Alistair has made enemies, but Miranda is a capable warrior. Any who wish to voice their displeasure with strength of arms will find themselves completely outmatched._

     The thought of Marjolaine reminded me of the woman I was years ago. There had been many rooms such as this in the time she and I were together. Rooms of opulence, of ceremony, where every step, every twirl, disguised a dagger in the dark. Now, I searched the faces of nobles and commoners alike, seeking out the plots, the deceptions, the deep-hidden resentments such as those that nearly cost Salem her life.

     I sought the face of Miranda Theirin in the crowd, determined to see for myself if all was truly as Salem believed; that the knight and Alistair were in love, that this union had not been colored by some traitorous machination. I...I could not be as desperately good as my wife. Time and life stripped my faith in humankind to the barest of threads, and though Salem had restored it...it would never return to its full strength. Too much of the world's evil had scarred me, physically, mentally, spiritually. There were many days I envied my wife's indomitable spirit.

     _After all, Salem nearly perished by the blade of one she thought her ally. And yet...that moment with Esmerelle did not change her. Salem did not lose her faith in her people, nor forsake the gentility of her heart. How, my love? How do you walk through this life; how do you remain so kind when all you need to do to justify hatred is look upon what others have done to you without cause or reason? How can you look upon the scars that decorate your body, worse than my own, and have no anger against those who harmed you?_

     I scrutinized the king and his new queen as the music slowed, becoming soft and intimate yet again, as it had been for the first dance. Alistair held his bride close, keeping his arm about her waist, drawing the hand that he held to his lips and placing upon it the faintest of kisses. In turn, the former Ser Cauthrien rested her head against Alistair's chest, closing her eyes in a show of absolute trust as he guided her in the steps of the dance.

     There were no subtle signals, no tension between their shoulders, tightness in their cheeks, carefully schooled smiles and rehearsed affectations. They were complete in their honesty with one another, clinging to each other in the grip of new love, passion, and the obvious comfort they found together.

     _I believed,_ I realized, _I believed that their bond was true when they swore their vows, but the voice can be schooled into passion, words can be carefully recited in order to convince and persuade. This...this is much more difficult to mimic...I would know. Marjolaine often decried me, saying how blessed I was that many fools did not know my body for the truths that it spoke, for the way it betrayed me. I have always been more honest than I knew...but in a subtler, simpler language. A language that Salem understood all too well._

     At last satisfied, my heart at ease, I turned away from the intimacy of their moment. _I forgive you, Miranda Cauthrien_ , my thoughts whispered, for the sake of my own soul. I remembered what Salem told me of redemption, that it was found in love and in the forgiveness of someone truly good, truly pure.

     _There is no darkness in Alistair. He loves her; he forgives her, as does Salem. Who am I to hold a grudge for...in truth...she has never harmed me in any way. It is not my responsibility to carry Salem's wrath when she does not share the emotion. It is harmful to me, and does her no favors. How wise you are, my love, to lead me to this realization for myself._

     I searched the room for Salem, but she had vanished from the hall. I smiled as I thought of her recalcitrance to attend anything that resembled an event of political importance. Fergus informed me on multiple occasions that Salem was every inch her father's daughter, and that Bryce was not named "the hermit noble" without good cause.

     I slipped away from the crowd and up the stairs, shivering as I remembered the last time I had ascended these towers, my hand entwined with Salem's, knowing for certain that she would be lost to me at the end of the battle.

     _But that did not happen. She took desperate measures for love, and walked out of Heaven and away from those she loved to return to me. She has never left me...never. Why...why do I fear that it shall soon be different? That she will turn her back, walk through the door and into whatever fate may be, leaving me alone in this world with naught but a ring, a tale, and a calling. And..._ I exited the staircase and found myself staring at the majesty of a blood-red and indigo sunset... _the memory of a love that will know no equal._

     The glow of the setting sun illuminated my wife's silhouette. I walked towards her and stood where she stood, looking to the sky as her scarred eyes fixed on the ground.

     "Some days," She breathed, her voice the low, rough lyricism that ensnared me from the first, "I cannot fathom that I survived this."

     I followed the line of her eyes to the pockmarked stone, pitted where the archdemon's blood had spattered and melted it away. Salem knelt and moved her scarred fingers over the uneven surface. I could see the clashing of swords in her eyes; witness the ferocity of her memories in the trembling of her hand.

     I could not formulate a response, knowing that the blood that scarred the stone of Fort Drakon flowed within my lover's veins, scorching her from the inside, burning against her heart and slowly draining the life from her. She had lost weight, from both the random fevers that afflicted her and the more recent development of trouble keeping down food. She was fading, little by little, and yet she lacked nothing. She continued to give me all of herself, as ever she had.

     _What can I say in the face of this...that she is is a hero? That she has done the impossible? All this, she knows. All this, she does not accept._

     "Would you do it again, Salem?" I asked, wondering if she harbored any regret for the life she could have lived, had Rendon Howe not become a traitor, had Duncan not come to Highever to recruit, had the archdemon never risen from its slumber.

     She turned to me and the scars in her eyes were softer than I had ever seen them. And I knew. I knew that what time we were given was nearing its end.

     _I will not shed tears,_ I resolved, standing firm. _Not on this day. This is a day of celebration, and I **will not** grieve what is not yet gone. _

     "Are you happy, Leliana?" She replied to my question with a gentle inquiry. "Have I made you happy, in spite of..." She gestured to the gashes in the stone that symbolized so much more than what they were, "...this?"

     "Yes, Salem." I threaded my arm around her waist and rested my head on her chest. "You make me happy. Always."

     She sighed, and I knew a smile perched on her lips. "Then, yes." She answered, tangling her fingers in my hair. "I would do it all again. I regret nothing."

     I recognized her last words; they were those that I said to her the night before we marched on Denerim, after she confided to me Riordan's terrible revelation. I had forgiven fate that night...as she forgave it now. I ached at the revelation. Knowing that this day would come, that this moment would arrive, did nothing to lessen the blow, to ease the pain. Even the fact that I had a calling to return to, that my destiny was to speak for the Maker across Thedas, could not assuage my sorrow. In this place, I was not the Maker's prophet. I was Leliana, and, now as that horrific battle over a year gone, I wanted nothing but for my wife to live.

     Salem wrapped her arm around me and took my free hand in her own. "Dance with me, dear heart." She whispered against my ear.

     She moved with the artless grace she had ever possessed, leading me in steps guided by no music but the symphony of our souls. We danced beneath the bloodied sky, dancing for touch, dancing for joy, dancing for _love_. Her lips pressed to mine in a passionate kiss, conveying everything that neither of us knew the words for. I returned it with ardor, shedding the tears that I had forsworn, for they had been altered by her touch. No longer were they tears shed for grief...instead, I wept because of the fullness of my heart, for the happiness it contained was so great that I could not hold the full measure of it within me.


	43. Testament and Will

**Salem**

     _Such a sight may never be witnessed twice..._

     I stared out of the window, watching the sun sink below the horizon. I relaxed in my chair and smiled, bathing in the glow of the sunset as the snow reflected the brilliant colors. The winter had been hard, but I rejoiced in that fact, knowing it would bring a more bountiful harvest, assuring the livelihoods of my countrymen, my friends, for at least another year.

     _I have done all that I can._

     I turned from the window and took up my quill, staring at my hand, at the faint bruising that lay beneath the layers and sworls of scarring. All other eyes had disregarded it, but I knew it for what it was. The weakening of the veins, the spilling of blood beneath the skin as the taint overpowered the limits of the body.

     The fevers, the inability to keep down food, the weakness...all of it led to this place. Soon, my mind would begin to fade as my body broke down. Memories would vanish, becoming but hollow mockeries of recollection. The power of coherent speech would slip away, leaving my words broken and distant and jumbled. I would be a shell of what once was a warden, and a woman.

     I shoved away the thoughts that screamed that all of this was happening too soon. I had forgiven fate so many times, and this last year had been nothing to me but bliss. I walked among my people, sharing in their joys and sorrows. I tread upon the beautiful, bountiful earth, glorying in sunrise and sunset without the constant threat of battle. I had known such peace, peace beyond comprehension, calm that outstripped understanding.

     My father's dream for Ferelden was one of serenity, and I had seen it come to fruition. I could walk into eternity with tidings of joy, and for that...for that I was grateful.

     _And I have **loved**_.

     My grip on the quill faltered as I thought of Leliana, waiting for me to finish this last order of business. She did not know...and I would not tell her. Tonight would be a celebration of life lived, a song written of passion, a dance. Tomorrow, with the rising of the sun, I would depart.

     I set my lips in a line of resolve, dipped my quill into the inkwell, and began to write.

* * *

     _My dearest Alistair,_

_There are so many things that I wish to put into this letter, but it seems that eloquence always fails me when I attempt to communicate with the written word. I need not play with hints and subtleties, however. You are my warden brother, and you alone can understand what I say when I tell you...it is time._

_How I wish I could have spoken to you in person, to tell you all that you have meant to me, both during the Blight and this past year. How immensely **proud** I am of you and all that you have fought for and accomplished. Both of us know that, somewhere, there is a senior enchanter with white hair and blue eyes, smiling with such brightness as to put the sun to shame. That is your doing, my brother. How I wish I could remain and see the world that you will build, one of fairness, justice, and equality. Your kindness and your wisdom have allowed me to become the one thing I never thought I could achieve. I am a woman of peace, Alistair, and I may thank you for that. _

_I am so grateful that you have found a worthy queen in Miranda. I never harbored any ill-will towards her, no matter what transpired before the Landsmeet. We all did things that caused us no joy and that we took little pride in. Please, never think that I disapproved of your choice, for we are not often allowed to choose whom our hearts desire. Be happy. Have children, should the Maker grant you such a gift. Know that, somewhere, your father grieves his ignorance about the true son of Ferelden, the one he never knew, but would have **loved**. Thank you for not hardening your heart against this land for the misdeeds of its king. Thank you for enduring my demands and desires for you, for accepting the crown and the heavy burden that accompanies it. _

_And it is because of those burdens that I pen this letter, requesting favors of you, that Amaranthine might continue to prosper. After I am gone, Leliana will not remain in Ferelden. She has a destiny written for her that outstrips even ours, my brother. Please, if you can, keep watch out for her; do what you can for her, for my sake. Because of this, my title will not pass to her, and I ask that you give it instead to the seneschal of Vigil's Keep and his family. Varel has served well and honorably, and has a consummate knowledge of the law, a respect for justice, and a heart for mercy. He will care for this province as none of the vassal lords ever could, should they be promoted. It is time for the old ways to abdicate in favor of those who have earned the position._

_In regards to position, I would recommend Sigrun to be Warden Commander of Ferelden. Velanna will not remain in one place until the Architect is found and her sister recovered. Nathaniel has no desire to remain in Ferelden, and I have no desire to keep him here, where old wounds could fester and turn raw and angry. Oghren...well...I need not elaborate on his incapability for a position of leadership. However, Varel and the former Legionnaire have already built a good rapport, and the new warden recruits respect her. She serves as my second in the wardens already; I hope it will be naught but a formality to give her the title she all but wears._

_I have one last and final request, my king. No fanfare. No parades. No formal shows of mourning. Please let me die as I have ever wanted to live...in peace, in the quiet remembrance of the few I named my friends, and the fewer that I called my family. I have no desire for a stone tomb in Weisshaupt, or any sort of memorial erected in Ferelden. It is enough that my final resting place will be the land I called my home, where I have been happy and blessed this last year._

_Be well, Alistair, and know that I love you, as all that you are; warden, brother, and king. Do not grieve overmuch. I will be waiting for you. Make me wait a very, very long time._

_~Salem_

* * *

     I signed and sealed the letter, exiting my office for the final time and handing the missive over to a trusted servant, telling them to conscript a courier and take the letter to Denerim with all haste. I paused in the stairwell, adjusting my tunic, smiling as my hands trembled in the manner they had the first time, so long ago. 

     "Maker," I whispered a prayer, "you have given me so much already. A life lived in peace, in love, in blessings. I would ask but one more thing of you. Please, for this one night, let me be as I was before. Take this weakness and frailty from me; let me love her as she deserves to be loved, so that she will have a final, exquisite memory to cling to. I know you care for her, and that she will endure, for that is the strength and beauty of her heart. Thank you, dear Maker, for hearing this, my final prayer."

     I straightened my shoulders as the aches and pains faded from me, as the pallor fled my skin. I paused at the door of my room, looking at the picture before my eyes, nearly brought to tears by its beauty.

     Leliana sat before the fire, strumming her lute, singing in the softest timbre...a melody I had never heard. It sounded like a lullaby, but the words were plaintive, a song of the crimes of man, the hardship of mortality, and the end result. My heart cracked for I knew that, after her calling was fulfilled, that the verses of such songs would be rewritten.

     _But this song,_ I entered the room, _I will hold in my heart. A prayer of hope, though dismal, a promise of joy, though bleak. I trust you, my beautiful, radiant Leliana. And I will watch you from the heavens, wait for you in paradise...and I will **rejoice** in your life. _

 


	44. A Shout Into the Void

**Leliana**

     I set my lute aside and stared into the flickering fire, watching the flames dance without music, without thought. It seemed that I could remain as I was for an eternity. Warm. Content. Loved. I had lacked for nothing this year, and the heart that once longed to wander had found both home and haven in the land that witnessed my birth. For the first time in my life, I did not plan my future. I did not plan to run. 

     "I could listen to you sing forever." Salem's voice came to me from across the stone floor, full of warmth and tender affection.

     She sat behind me and laced her arms about my waist, perching her chin on my shoulder and staring into the flames with me. I leaned back against me, savoring the whisper of her breath across my neck. I smiled as her lips pressed against my hair in a sweet, chaste kiss.

     "Could you?" I asked, wondering, not for the first time, how long that forever would be.

     "You would choose tonight to begin to doubt?" She asked, a subtle smile in her voice, her indulgent smile, a loving expression of which I could never tire.

     Her hand covered my own and I flinched. Over the last two months, I became accustomed to the ever-present chill of her skin. Now, however, she felt as though she burned hot with fever. Alarmed, I turned to see her face, my lips parting in shock as I gazed into her eyes.

     They shown with an unearthly light, a scathing gentleness. The scars in them had faded so as to be non-existent, as though she need no longer see so far to witness mortality. The calm resignation in them kicked in my chest, caused my heart to beat faster, and I understood what I knew she would not say...

     _For she has never spoken of her death, or of the Calling's final farewell. Since we were reunited, she has lived each day to its full extent, anticipating this moment...the moment wherein the dream must vanish...and the gift be returned to its giver._

     My lips began to tremble as I reached up to brush the scar on her cheek. "So soon?" I breathed, hating the weakness in my voice, the sudden shaking of my entire body, tremors that would not cease.

     _I thought..._ tears pierced my eyes, fierce, harsh, fiery... _I thought I would be ready for this; that my faith would see me through, but I cannot...Maker, I **cannot** fathom losing her! How...how do I even begin to think of our lives as separate...not from a cruel twist of fate but by death **itself**!? _

     "Always, you see what you should not." Salem pulled me back against her, into her warmth and strength. I curled into a tight ball of recalcitrance and grief, afraid of looking at her and comprehending...comprehending that I would not know the embrace of her arms ever again. "Leliana." She whispered, the haunting resonance of her voice turning my name into a song. "Look at me, dear heart."

     I forced myself to lift my eyes to her own as her hands began to soothe the shivering that would not ease. Soft, gentle lips kissed away the tears on my cheek and her dexterous, scarred fingers worked through the tangles of my hair.

     "Give me this." She asked, making a request as I had never before heart. "Give me this time with you, free from the tears of grief."

     "How?" I managed to speak through the sorrow that gagged me. "How can you ask such a thing of me, Salem? I can see it in your eyes...the scars are diminished. The death in them has faded into acceptance...you cannot know how this _tears_ at my soul; how it strangles my spirit!"

     "I do." She consoled me, pressing a feather-light kiss to my temple. "Oh, Leliana, I _do._ And though I grieve that we shall be parted, that grief is drowned beneath the _love_ that pounds through my veins. Every beat of my heart surges with _joy_ , for I am holding all that I ever desired."

     "You break me with words." I leaned against her chest, listening to the beat of her heart, strong, steady, sure. "Don't leave me, Salem. Please," My words faded into a harsh sob that wrenched out from the depths of my soul, " _please_ do not leave me."

     I knew the request was cruel; I knew that her heart must have broken beneath it, but she said nothing. Nothing decrying the ridiculous uselessness of my plea, nothing judging me for my weakness in the face of fate and future. Instead, she wrapped her arms around me and helped me to my feet. She steadied me with her beautiful, scarred hands and looked at me as a thirsty man gazed upon water. With longing, joy, and overwhelming content.

     _Do not...do not look at me in my weakness, Salem. I should...I **know** that I should be strong in this moment; that I should aid you in the difficulties to come, but I cannot. I have watched you dance with death, day after day unto month after month. I have seen you ripped, shredded, betrayed...never did I imagine losing you in an atmosphere of home and cheer and comfort. _

     "From the moment we first spoke," Salem held me tighter, enveloping me in her familiar scent: copper, salt, smoke...the unique scent of the battlefield. "I felt something within my heart that I did not understand. I avoided you at first, so terribly did I fear the reawakening of emotion."

     She rose, pulling me to my feet in a fluid, graceful motion. Her hands rested on my hips and pulled me forward; her lips pressed against mine in a slow, languid kiss. It was a kiss meant to savor, to slowly kindle passion's fire and devour the body and soul in bliss. Salem alone kissed me in such a manner, and I felt myself yearn to be closer to her, to feel her skin against mine, to touch the beauty of her scars. My own hands reached out and tangled in the laces of her shirt, undoing them in trembling, fumbling movements. She allowed it and moved her lips down my neck.

     "You are so beautiful." She spoke, her teeth grazing my skin, eliciting a gasp as shockwaves spiraled down my back. "You tear my eyes away from the battle and blood; you fill me with longing and a desire to _feel_ every emotion my heart fears."

     The motion of my hands stilled as Salem kissed the hollow of my throat, undoing my shirt lacings one at a time as her lips traced the path her fingers had blazed, filling my veins with fire and my mind with a symphony. She rose again as the last of the laces pulled free, easing my shirt off of my shoulders and gazing at me with such love I felt my heart break open and bleed anew.

     Her hands roved over my body with the lightest of touches. I could not think of never feeling her hands again, never seeing those silver-blue eyes glistening with light and tears. So I did not. I focused on this moment, living in it, cherishing it, imprinting it within the depths of my soul that it might always be present and living within me.

     "Your scars." Salem's breath hitched as her fingers grazed the uneven textures of my skin. "Like a legend, a translation of your innermost self. This one," She knelt and pressed her lips to the star-shaped pucker on my left side, where a darkspawn bolt struck me during the last fight at Fort Drakon, "the consummate protector, even at the risk of your own life."

     Her hands moved upwards, along my thighs, over my hips, caressing the skin of my back, where puckered lines of once torn flesh criss-crossed. "These speak of an unfathomable strength and determination, a spirit insistent upon living no matter the costs or their consequences."

     "And this." She knelt before me and pressed her mouth to the oldest of the scars, the one on my right side, where Marjolaine's barbed dagger had pierced me and twisted. "This shows a woman who would devote everything and risk all that she possesses for love. This, Leliana...this is the most beautiful part of you."

     Tears spilled from my eyes afresh, not of sadness and not for pain, but tears shed for burdens lifted. I had been a vain woman, once; I had reviled my scars and dreaded the mirror, cutting short the hair that had been my pride, foregoing the paints and powders that once defined my features, working long hours in the sun, letting it ravage my skin...doing everything I could to damage myself in my own sight...as I felt I had been ruined in others.

     "Salem," My gentle touch on her shoulder brought her to her feet, brought her eyes to mine, "let me see you." I begged. "Let me see all of you. Please, my love."

     Without hesitation, she shed her clothing, letting the fire dance across her naked grandeur. I gazed at the body of my warrior, my warden, my wife. I ran my hands across her broad shoulders and down her muscled arms, arms that had carried me through hellfire and sorrow, over, at last, the threshold of joy and safety and peace. Crimson scarring dripped down her arms and chest, painting her skin in an exotic, hard-won mosaic. Her breath tremored out as I traced over the marks from swords, arrows, teeth, claws, and torture.

     "How?" I asked again, wondering how she had accepted what, in any other eyes but mine and those who knew her, would find disfiguring and horrific.

     "Do you think," Her voice vibrated through me, sending shockwaves down through me and into my core, "that I would wear these marks as badges of honor, had I not first seen one who bore her scars with such gentility and kindness and grace? That I could have learned to accept this without an example to lead me? If that is the case, you think too much of me, dear heart. You give me courage, courage to heal, to accept, to forgive and continue. I am the woman standing before you because you have been at my side. Let no other tell you different."

     I wrapped my arms around her, clinging to the woman who had been my anchor and my rock, my savior and my lover...the kindest stranger I had ever met, and the most beautiful, pure soul in existence. Salem had embodied hope for Wynne...only now did I realize that she had worn that definition for me as well. Hope for the human heart, the human mind...love personified.

     "Leliana," Her voice trembled with a ferocity of emotion no soul could contain. She guided me to the bed and eased the last of my clothing from me with a reverent, comforting touch. "Dance with me." She prayed.

     And so we _danced_ through the hours of the night, our bodies entwined, our hearts intermingled. We _screamed_ for the joy and cruelty of the world, we _wept_ for the devastating beauty and sorrow of love. Her hands touched me with the spark of new life, speaking of forgiveness, of acceptance, pleasure and pain and passion. I returned in kind, pouring into her every measure of devotion I could conjure, praying to every god that existed in thanks and in hatred. We spoke of love in every language, we laughed and we remembered...we lived in an entire lifetime as we drowned in the other's eyes. And whatever wounds had existed were healed, whatever fears had haunted were assuaged.

     At last, shuddering, drained, spent with pleasure and grief, I folded myself into my warden's arms and let her cradle me, her body a shield against the terror of the dawn and the lonely years stretching out before me.

     "I...I love you, Salem." I breathed as my eyelids fluttered closed. No matter how hard I fought, I could not convince them to remain open.

     "Sleep well, my beloved wife." Her lips pressed against mine with the gentlest of kisses. "Dream sweetly."

     I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close, needing to feel every inch of her skin against my own, for as long as time would allow. I wanted it to be forever.

     "Will...will you be here when I wake?" I asked, my accent thick with exhaustion, my voice as naive as a lost child.

     Her hand cupped my cheek and she kissed my forehead, protection and promise. "Always, dear heart." She promised with as truth and passion as her wedding vows. "Always."


	45. A Final Fight

**Salem**

    _There is a wound in the earth._

     I stared at the gate to the Deep Roads, a hidden entrance whose existence I had never confided to my fellow wardens, knowing that this day would come...and all too soon.

     I inhaled deep of the crisp, winter air, watching as the sun began to creep over the edge of the horizon, painting the snow-covered world in a barrage of color that outstripped any artist's palette. The air around me held still, as though it wished to freeze time for me, to keep me locked into the waking world. It held me with the warmth and ferocity of Leliana's arms, whispering to me with her voice, the pleas, the sadness, the longing.

     _Forgive me, dear heart, but this is what must be done._

     I pulled my swords from their sheathes, letting my eyes linger on the image of the nightingale inscribed in the hilt. My ring had been made in that image, and it burned against my hand as I adjusted to the weight of the weapons I had not drawn in combat for a year and a half.

     _I could have stayed, clung to life longer, sentenced you to the pain of watching me become like Ruck, or Hespith, and I love you far too much for that. I love you with all that I am, with these hands, with these blades, with this heart that beats and pounds your name into my spirit and soul as a mantra of strength and beauty._

     I steeled myself and walked forward into the darkness, feeling already the sinister presence in my mind, the muddled voices of the darkspawn, calling me sister, calling me closer. I would not walk away from this battle. I had not succumbed to slumber, remaining awake to watch the woman I loved, to cherish her as she dreamed, to freeze an image of beauty and purity in my mind. My eyes were bleary, my muscles tired, and I wore no armor, for this was not a war that could be won.

     I clenched my jaw and clung to the goodness of the life I had been given, the blessings unmeasured that lay in my hands, the strength of the shoulders free from their burdens. The lines of Leliana's song from yesternight filled my mind and I walked ever forward, a lullaby my battle cry.

* * *

_It's simply as the stories go, transcending time and fate._

_It's simpler that we never know, for men are doomed to wait._

* * *

     Waiting no longer, I followed the path that led me deep beneath the earth, where the raucous chattering of the darkspawn greeted my ears. I extended my presence, letting them sense me, not as one among them but as the one they called enemy, as one they feared, as one who had brought their god down from the Black City and slaughtered it, walking away victorious and living a life fulfilled. 

     I had become everything that they despised, something bright, something beautiful, and they would not take it from me, for life extended beyond the individual's breath. It continued in the memories of those cherished and loved, in the minds of whose who had been changed, in the hearts of those who would know sorrow.

     _Do not grieve for me, dear heart,_ I whispered a silent prayer as I struck out at the enemy, my blades cutting through its neck as though they flashed through but air. It fell with a gurgling rasp and the scent of vile, tainted blood floated to me from the ground as I stepped over its corpse.

* * *

_Through all the Ages, men have sworn to let go foolish pride,_

_though every generation born proves that all men have lied._

* * *

     _Keep her safe,_ I continued my prayer when the first awareness of pain cut through my defenses as a genlock's bolt punctured my thigh. 

_Let her be happy._  I scissored my blades in a sweeping arc, decapitating the hurlock that charged me. Blood stained my clothing as I moved deeper into the tunnels, but I did not feel the pain. 

     _Do not let her close her heart away,_ I blocked an overhead strike and my shoulders shrieked as the impact caused sparks; tiny shards of metal flew into my eyes, _for it is beautiful beyond reckoning._

* * *

_A litany of hardened hearts did bring about this end,  
_

_our sep'rate, bloodied, equal parts, once riven never mend._

* * *

     A line of fire opened across my arm and once more the warmth of blood coated my skin. I cut down the genlock whose blade had scored my flesh and kicked it into the wall, smiling in triumph as it slid to the cold of the floor, never to rise again, never to harm another. 

     _Protect her, please,_ I asked the god who chose Leliana.

     I staggered as I dodged a blow for my midriff, but recovered and drove my main-hand sword through the hurlock's gut, twisting and ripping up and out. I paused to breathe as the acrid scent of sulfur bloomed around me and a shriek appeared, striking out with taloned hands. The razor sharp claws caught the backs of my shoulders and flung me to the ground, tipping away flesh and tearing through muscle.

     I pushed myself up, unable to keep the smile from my face, knowing that I would perish as a woman who fought for peace, and achieved that goal. That I had loved a wounded heart, been loved in return, and that love had made us whole.

* * *

_This tale of failure, tale of loss, can be laid at our feet._

_Divine and mortal shall not cross; the two can never meet._

* * *

     I cut down the shriek with two hacking blows, though my wounded, flayed back protested the movement. I entered a small chamber, watching as my enemies gathered around me, thinking their victory complete. Little did they know, I could not be defeated. I had known the outcome of this battle, and I had already won every war I intended to fight. 

     _This is a formality,_ I struck out as a brave genlock tried its luck, only to fall beneath my blades. _A tradition of honor and respect. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. In live..._ I remembered my revelation in the Frostback Mountains, my reconciliation with the warden's flawed creed, and my heart calmed as heavy footsteps echoed behind me... ** _love._**

     All feeling faded as I heard the tell-tale sound of punctured flesh. I paused, thoughts blurring, wondering why I could no longer feel my legs before they gave way, leaving me on my knees, gasping, holding myself up by my swords.

     Inside my mind, I could hear the bubbling laughter of the darkspawn. I stared down at my chest, at the blade protruding from above my heart. Time slowed and blood filled my mouth with the familiar taste of copper and salt. The enemy behind me wrenched backward, releasing his weapon from my body with a sickening squelch.

     I fell forward onto the ground, embracing the earth, a sword gripped in each hand, bleeding my last blood into the land that I loved. I struggled to keep my eyes open, to see the ever-fading lines of the nightingale on my sword.

     I inhaled for what my body knew was the last time, savoring the feeling of pressure in my lungs, before, at last, forgiving fate the final time. The last verse of my bard's lullaby drifted through my mind, singing me to peaceful sleep.

* * *

_And children say "it isn't so," while playing in Time's stream,_

_but gods locked heaven long ago, lest mortals dare to dream._

* * *

     I parted my lips and tasted blood and dirt and _life_. 

     "Love...you...Leli...ana."


	46. The Last Letter

**Leliana**

     I woke to the chill of the winter sun kissing my cheek. I curled tighter into myself, attempting to preserve the heat, shivering slightly as tired muscles stretched. I felt as though I had been beaten, slogged through miles of mountain trails, swum rivers of interminable length. Without thought, I reached across the bed, seeking the comforting touch that I knew would be there when I opened my eyes. 

     _A silver-blue sunrise of beauty and hope, a precious moment between two scarred hearts, who managed to sand down their fractured edges and stitch themselves to each other._

     Fear forced my eyes open as I felt the emptiness beside me, the cold of the sheets, the vacant space where once had dwelt comfort, strength, and love. I opened my eyes, surveying before me what had to have been the cruelest of tricks, the most devastating of lies ever told me.

     I stared at the vacant place, the sheets still wrinkled from where she had rested, the pillow...the _fucking_ pillow!

     On her pillow rested a bouquet of Andraste's Grace...in the middle of winter. I stared at the perfect flowers, the deep green of their stems and bloom of their petals defying this season of desolation and death.

     Tears, tears that would never end, that could not run dry, spilled over my eyes and, for the first time inside the walls of this keep, I felt as a stranger. I had no anchor any longer, nothing to tether me to this world and she had...she had...

     "You _promised_." I whimpered, clutching at the empty sheets, digging my fingers into the mattress until my knuckles turned white, praying for a vestige of warmth, anything to tell me that I might see her again, that she was merely preparing for departure, that our lips could meet in a passionate kiss, that I could gaze into my heaven in her eyes and tell her...

     "There is so _much_ , Salem." I whispered to the woman who would never be there again, whose voice I would never hear, skin never touch, heart never feel, "so _much_ that I had left to say. Why, my love? _Why!?_ "

     I huddled into myself, naked and alone, staring at the flowers, a parting gift of beauty and peace. I collapsed forward onto _her_ pillow, holding the flowers close to my heart, inhaling their aroma and Salem's scent, begging to close my eyes and wake again, with her at my side, and all of this be a cruel dream, a trickster demon in the Fade, toying with the minds of mortals.

     My cheeks burned from the salt of my tears and I buried my nose in the flowers and flinched as it brushed a sharp edge. I pulled away and stared at the carefully folded parchment inside the bouquet. Hesitant, with trembling hands, I pulled it free, staring at my name written on it in Salem's precise, careful handwriting.

     My lips trembled as I unfolded it, running my fingertips over the dried ink, the lines of her soul spelled out on parchment. I held it in the cold light of the winter sun, the frigid air of the room that was not mine any longer, for the one who made it home had departed.

     I closed my eyes but the tears would not cease, nor would my heart stop aching as it beat like a hollow drum and screamed, loud and harsh as a discordant cymbal.

     _You **promised!**_

     My thoughts shrieked, and I knew, I knew in my heart, that Salem had not yet fallen. I could feel her spirit still, vibrant and alive, warm and welcoming, the same sense I felt below decks on the Right Hand's ill-fated vessel.

     _She still lives,_ I thought, determined to find her.

     I flung the covers off and dressed as quickly as I could, strapping Eleanor Cousland's bow to my back and pulling on my boots. I turned my back to make sure I had forgotten nothing...my gaze lingered on the unread letter, the forgotten flowers, and my heart fractured.

     _She_ , I clenched my jaw as my throat tightened, _she does not desire to be found. Not even...not even by me._

     My legs trembled as I returned to the bed and sat down, lifting Salem's letter and opening it, allowing my eyes to read the words that my heart did not want to hear, acknowledge and, Maker forbid, _feel_.

* * *

     _Dry your eyes, dear heart. I know what you must have felt upon waking; upon finding our bed empty. I know I made you a promise, and I am keeping it now. Though it may not seem the truth at this moment, I will **never** leave your side. Do not forget, beloved, that I have gazed into eternity and walked hand in hand with death. Even torn from the waking world, I will be beside you. _

_I am struggling to find words at this moment, for I am watching you sleep. Your lips are curved upward at the corners, though your brow is creased with confusion. I hope that you are dreaming of beautiful things, for that is what you deserve. I hope that I have given you all that you desired, all that you have needed from me. For I know, in my heart, that even if I became a speaker of every language and a scribe in every tongue, I could never find enough words to describe the depth of my love for you._

_At this very instant, as your eyes scan these lines, I am listening to your voice inside my mind, replaying the music that you made all the sweeter. Never forget, dear heart, that no matter the plans the Maker has for your voice, to persuade, to inspire, to comfort, that its **first** purpose is to **heal**. The first night you sang for me, my heart remembered what it was to be moved, to **feel**. I believe I fell in love with you at that very moment, for the third or fifth time, I can never recall. Pleas smile, Leliana. I do so love your smile. It is all the brightness of the morning, full of zeal and light and promise of the wonders to come. I have never seen a sunrise to rival the brilliance of your smile, nor heard a symphony that could eclipse the sound of your laughter. _

_Thank you for opening your heart to me, for letting me carry such a precious gift and trusting me with its care. Thank you for letting me love you, for becoming my wife, for allowing me to experience the greatest joys life has to offer. I can go on this final journey with no regrets, and that is a claim few will ever be able to make with honesty. I have never lied to you, and would not begin now. Trust me in this, Leliana. I have lacked for nothing. You are **everything** to me. _

_However, no matter that it pains me, I must speak of darker things. You took my name, Leliana, and you made me a promise, not so very long ago, when we both stood on the precipice of eternity. You promised me that you would sing again, and dance again, and continue to learn and recount the old tales...that you would continued to **live**. _

_I will hold you to that promise, dear heart. I want you to walk into your life and embrace whatever good things may come. You are my last love, my all-encompassing dream, my beginning and end...this need not be so for you. If another calls to your heart, or another's hands tempt you, do not hesitate for the sake of my memory. I will begrudge you no happiness, for you deserve all beauty offered by this life. I know that this is difficult to think of, and that you might cast this letter away out of frustration and grief, but I beg you, do not cast away my last wish for you. We were meant to love, to hold another, and that nee shall not fade, not even after I am gone. Do not deny a living soul in memory of a departed one._

_Live, Leliana, and I will live with you. I will build a home for us in paradise, and greet you at its gate, and we will walk in the gardens that know no winter, and drink from the water that quenches all thirst. We will dance among the stars, and travel through the galaxies. We will have time, dear heart. I can promise you that; I can promise you forever when you rejoin me many, **many** years from now. _

_How I wish I could spare you this pain, Leliana. I have never wished to hurt you, but we cannot hide from this, and thus I will not. And I beg you, I **beg** , do not hide your heart away, or sentence it to grief. You are too beautiful to lock yourself inside of tears and turn them to a diamond prison. You are more than beautiful. You **are** beauty. You **are** peace. You are more than ever I could have hoped for, and I love you with a ferocity that outstrips mortal comprehension. Prosper, my Leliana. Flourish. Change the world as I know you can, for you changed me in the same manner. For the better. _

_All my heart,_

_~Salem_

* * *

     I pressed the parchment against my chest, not minding that the smudged ink from my tears would stain my clothes. I reached into my heart, seeing the burning light that was my innate knowledge of Salem's life, my connection to the woman powerful enough to slay a god, strong enough to speak of forgiveness, brave enough to face death alone and without comfort. 

     Quiet, without hesitation, without faltering, without fanfare...the light went out and I knew that she died in the same manner she lived. Humble. Fearless. Strong. A wave of loss poured over me and I buried my face in her pillow as raw anguish wracked my body.

     A frigid wind blew through the window and whispered across my back. And I hated the cruelty of the world as a familiar voice, tinged with an edge of dark humor, brushed across my ears for the final time.

     _I didn't lose, dear heart. I didn't lose._


	47. Saying Farewell

**Leliana**

 

      _There is a hole in the world._

I dismounted my horse, biting my lip as the tears struck again. This journey had been one of great difficulty. Every road, every landmark, every copse of trees or mountainside had some memory attached to it. A memory of her low, rare laughter, or lightning striking her silver-blue eyes. A caress in the dark, an impromptu kiss exchanged. Ferelden had her image stamped upon it, and I could not look away, no matter the pain open eyes brought. Brought without ceasing. Her absence ached in me like a yawning chasm, and I wondered, not for the first time, how she had been able to carry the scars within her eyes. Always looking across that great divide, between mortal and divine...how much strength did it take to face the morning? The mirror? The scrutiny and fear of others?

      _How much did I never know of you, my love?_ I wondered as the doors of Cousland Hall opened, revealing the stoop-shouldered form of a man in mourning.  _How much was there yet to learn, if the sun had continued to shine upon us?_

     Fergus looked up and our eyes were the same. Red-rimmed with tears, shadowed with the hollow bruising of sleepless nights and once-sweet dreaming. We stood there, unable to speak, incapable of broaching the distance between us. 

     A loud bark jolted me from the endless stare of shared sorrow. Burrow rushed out of the doors, running to meet me with his tongue lolling out, his stub of a tail wagging for all it was worth, his one ear alert and erect. He ran to me and I petted him, scratching behind his missing ear. He sniffed around me and licked my hand, but his attention turned elsewhere, looking side to side, ear cocked for a familiar voice, scenting the air for the one he loved best.

     Large, intelligent eyes looked to mine and the mabari's stub-tail ceased its dance. He met my gaze and a low whimper emerged from his throat as I shook my head. Burrow sniffed the air once more, pawing at the earth...giving up as he sat back on his haunches and  _wailed_. The howl echoed off of stone and wall, a mute beast pouring out its grief in the only manner it knew. 

      _There is a hole in our hearts._

     I knelt and flung my arms around Burrow's shoulders, inhaling the scent of warm straw and wet dog. Tears flooded from my eyes as Burrow and I mourned together. Warm arms wrapped around me as Fergus joined, realizing that he was not alone in his grief. That Salem had bound us all together, and now those ties were severed, and we were cast adrift from the one who had been so powerful, so calming, so steady and resolute that she anchored an entire country. 

     "They...they're waiting for us." Fergus spoke, his voice harsh with too little sleep. "I...I couldn't go alone, Leliana. You must think me a coward, but..."

     "No." He helped me to my feet and I embraced him. "In truth, were you not here, I do not think I could bear this."

     Fergus nodded as a servant brought him his horse. We mounted and rode away from the city, towards the grove of trees that housed the simple memorials for Bryce and Eleanor. My hands trembled as they held the reins, knowing that, thus far, I had been able to pretend. Able to keep Salem by my side with memory and dreaming. Able to forget the past. 

      _But there are still untraveled miles for me,_ I thought, for the first time despising the Maker who had chosen me, called me.  _There are battles to be waged, and wars to be fought, and I do not have her strength to shore me up when I am weak. I do not have her to carry me when I am wounded, body and soul._

     Salem's brother and I dismounted and entered the grove. Again, I felt the wave of peace from this sacred place, a place that was dear in Salem's heart, that held her happiness and tears, her contemplations before the cruelty of life tested her resolve. 

      _Before she met that test and **triumphed.**_

     Two figures stood before the two--no-- _three_ \--granite markers. They turned to greet us, Alistair taking a step backwards, but Wynne came forward and wrapped me in her arms. I could smell the salt of her tears and feel the heavy mantle of grief that rested upon the shoulders of the woman who had been a mother to me...and to Salem. 

     "Oh, my child," She whispered against my ear, fierce, "if I could, I would have given my life in her stead."

     "I know." A sob wracked my body, from a pained depth that I could not fathom, nor see its ending. "Oh, Wynne...I know, for I would have done  _the same_."

     For a moment, we remained in our embrace, balancing the weight of each other's grief. At last, the healer released me and I looked into her deep blue eyes, eyes that had seen too much death, too much suffering. Her hands had mended Salem's body so many times, her magic had sealed grievous wounds and brought the dying back to life...but this was an immutable fate, and no power, not even that of a Fade spirit, could return the dead. 

     Alistair remained by the new granite monument, staring at the five simple letters engraved into the stone. They said everything...a single word that had held us together through fire and torment, through torture and devastation. A word that quickened our hearts, steeled our resolve, kept us safe in the dark of peaceful night and the unmitigated terror of battle. 

      _Salem_. 

     "I...I suppose we should say something." The king spoke, hesitant, reminding me of the young man I first met in Lothering, who hid behind the imposing warrior...a woman who never lacked for words, knowledge, or compassion. "I don't...where do I even begin?"

     Fergus rested his hand on Alistair's shoulder, the touch of a brother, a friend, a comrade in arms. "Salem never had much use for words." He comforted the king, who looked lost and oh, so lonely. "Always...even as a child...she preferred to act. First to stand against injustice, first to call for fairness in our childhood games..." He chuckled and pinched the bridge of his nose, "...first to the dinner table, last to leave."

     A weak laugh echoed from the four of us and Alistair straightened his shoulders. He clenched his fist and placed it over his heart, kneeling before the granite headstone and resting his free hand upon it.

     "I was the senior warden." He began to speak, as though he addressed Salem, as though none of the rest of us were present. "It was my responsibility to carry us through...after Ostagar. But I was  _weak_ , Salem. And never once did you revile me, never once did you cut at me with words...though perhaps that was simply because you felt sorry for me and the way Morrigan  would flay my backside with every available barb." The king sighed and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the cool of the stone. "I knew the creed; I knew the lore, but  _you_ taught me what it was to  _be_ a Grey Warden. And, strange as it may seem, you taught me how to be a man. I promise, Salem, in much the manner you promised to see us through the Blight, I will continue the work that you set in motion. Equality. Freedom. Mercy. Even without you, the work you began...the requests you made of me at my coronation...I  _will_ see them through."

     The king rose from his position of fealty, a new resolve in his warm, brown eyes, a resolve that Salem had seen as fractured metal. With her friendship, her strength, her willingness to teach, she had forged that metal into a blade of such brilliance and strength that the world would be blinded. Her heart, her soul, her words made a coward into a king, and Ferelden would prosper for it. 

     I made no effort to wipe away the tears on my face. Wynne took my hand and squeezed it, gentle, imparting a measure of her great strength. 

     "No..." Her voice cracked, "...no mother should ever visit the grave of her child. And I  _did_ feel as a mother to you, Salem. You tried me, tested my patience, my resolve, but at the end...my heart could  _burst_ from pride. Your light is so brilliant still that the generations to come will  _aspire_ to it. And those who knew you will grow older still, comforted by the warmth you have left with us. I know you asked for no fanfare and no monument...but let me give you this, Salem. My daughter not of flesh, but of spirit...let me give you this."

     The mage relinquished my hand and faded deep into a trance, her fingers tracing arcane patterns before her, the blue glow of lyrium emanating from her body. I watched in amazement and awe as the blue-white radiance of healer's magic began to form flames around the three monuments. The pillars of flame spiraled upwards and inwards, bursting into the image of a crest; a rampant mabari on either side, facing the double rampant griffin of the Grey Wardens in the center. A banner appeared above the crest, with but three words.

      _Honesty. Loyalty. Peace._

     I placed a hand over my open mouth, stifling a sob as I stared at the gift of Salem's mage mother. A gift built not only to honor my warden, but to honor those who had given her all of her gifts, who molded and shaped the woman she was. The woman I loved. 

     "I am the last Cousland." Fergus whispered, his words meant for my ears alone as Wynne gathered her composure and Alistair wrapped a comforting arm around the grieving mage's shoulder. "And the least of my family."

     On impulse, I wrapped my brother in a tight hug, clinging to the man who had known Salem best, and loved her  _well_. 

     "Salem would tell you to seal your lips, you filthy ragamuffin." I murmured past the choking grasp of still fresh sorrow. I did not know if this pain, this ache, this loss would ever fade. Or ever mend. 

     Fergus' unexpected laugh turned to a sob and he rested his head on my shoulder. I ruffed his hair with my fingers, teasing the strands that were lighter and redder than Salem's own. 

     "You are not the last, Fergus." I comforted him. "I am with you still, and I wear her name. That shall never change. I will forever wear the Cousland name, and do my utmost to honor it."

     Fergus nodded and left my embrace. From the look on his face, I knew he would say no more.  _Could_ say no more. Alistair looked to me...my voice would be the last raised in her memory. If I could speak. 

     "Leliana," The king asked, "Is there...is there anything you would like to say?"

     I examined their faces, and looked at the granite stone, tracing the letters of her name with my eyes. My lips trembled. 

     "She loved me." I whispered. "She. Loved.  _Me._ I..." My voice shattered, as though I had poured fragmented glass down my throat, "...I think such a thing...says enough."

     We remained silent, staring at the grave marker that she did not rest beneath, the sole monument to the memory of the woman we knew and loved. Two as a sister, one as a mother, and me...

      _She was my **wife**. I  **loved** her as I had never known love was possible. _

     I let my gaze go distant, looking into all the memories, the beautiful, the bittersweet...the  _agonized_. I scarcely registered the farewells of the others as they returned to their lives and their own private grief. It symbolized so, so much more than a simple good-bye. The anchor had snapped, and chances stood that few of us would cross paths again. I thought of those not here with us. Morrigan, who disappeared to Maker knew where, but who had loved Salem enough to protect her from the Archdemon. Shale, who returned to her people and instruct them in forgotten lore. Sten, who hopefully rejoined the qunari, able once more to resume his position in their strange society. Zevran, whom I knew would grieve in his own way, once word of Salem's passing reached him. He had loved her too. And Oghren...Oghren who had remained sober an entire three days, too stunned by the news to even lift a flask to his lips. 

      _There is a hole in creation._

     I looked up and I saw the tree, the one Salem spoke to me of in the Deep Roads when I lay awake, terrified of the dark. The same tree I climbed once, in a dream. Once again, as in that dream, I felt drawn towards it. I reached for the branches as thunder rumbled and gentle rain began to fall. I felt as though the sky and the gods wept for the woman who served them so well. Branch by branch, I ascended the tree, an insane hope lighting in my heart, that this reality would play out as my dream had; that I would see Salem once more, speak to her again, be given one last moment of love. 

     At last, I stood on the highest branch, overlooking the city of Highever, the waving grasses bathed by the rain. I brushed my drenched hair away from my face, seeking any sign of my wife, my warden, my peace and my home. 

     "Where are you?" I asked, voice drowned out by the crackling thunder and the sparkspit of lightning. "Are you happy? Are you healed? I...I have no knowledge of eternity, Salem. Can you even hear me? I  _miss_ you, my love. Maker save my soul, I  _hurt_...and I do not know how to say good-bye. Always,  _always_ it has been me torn away from love. Never has it been stripped from me, and it  _fucking_ hurts! Ancient gods...is this how you felt when I left you? How did you endure that; how did you forgive me!?"

      _How do I forgive_ ** _you_** _?_ My thoughts continued when I could no longer speak.  _You **left** me, Salem! You have  **never** left me! Why now...why now? Why, at all? _

     I leaned against the trunk of the tree, buried my face in my hands, and wept. My thoughts assailed me, bringing to me the kindness in Salem's eyes, the brokenness of her voice that one terrible, stormy night in Denerim. 

      _You live. I live. That is the simplicity of it._

     I held the ring on my finger as though it were the sole thing tethering me to sanity. 

      _Sing again. Dance again. Write music, quote poetry, tell tales. Live the life for which you were meant..._

     Her words continued to ring in my thoughts, as crystalline as though she stood before me, speaking the sentences in the most beautiful of voices. Rain melted my tears away, but they continued to pour forth, blurring my vision and doing nothing to ease the ferocious ache of my very soul. 

     "You were my life, Salem." I spoke to her, at last feeling the peace she had spoken of in this place. "You were the life for which I was meant, and now...now I must live  _again_. This time, it will be different. This time, I will live as you did, my love. Humble. Fearless. Kind."

     I looked out over the rain-soaked earth, to the dark horizon beyond, to the land I could call home again. The land that gave birth to me and Salem. The land Salem died for, and bled into, and forgiven of all its crimes against her. 

     "Very well, my Maker." I nodded, accepting, for the first time, all that encompassed my new destiny. "I will go. I will go, and I shall carry her with me...in my heart, where nothing loved ever perishes. I..." The words halted on my lips, until I recalled the ease from which they fell from Salem's, "...I forgive you."


	48. Beginning Again

**TWO MONTHS LATER**

**Leliana**

 

     The wide expanse of the Hall of Justice lay before me. The light blinded me still; the echo of my footsteps rang no less daunting in my ears. However, this time I strode forward, no trepidation in my heart, no lingering sorrow for a heart left behind and a destiny unrealized. It had taken time, rambling journeys of a lonely bard through a well-remembered countryside, to reconcile myself to grief. The dreams that haunted me, the memories of bliss and longing, had faded to a sweet, soft ache within the depths of my soul. But I had grown accustomed to the pain, and I had forgiven the cruelty of a fate written in the hands of men who lived so long ago that their crimes were long forgotten and unmended. 

      _It is so easy to philosophize,_ I thought as I approached the Sunburst Throne once more,  _to speak of the mind and to say that death is necessary for the continuation of life. How much more difficult it is to endure that knowledge on a tangible level, to look death in the eye and realize its immutability. But, in the end, past the tears, beyond the dreaming...it remains no less a truth._

     I reached the stairs and bowed deeply, once again accepting my part in this charade, embracing my new destiny and calling with a heart beginning to heal. The loss of Salem would resonate with me forever, but I had learned so many things from her. How to love. How to forgive. How to heal. How to live.

      _As a servant. As someone willing to lower themselves in order to elevate others. In accepting my fate, my calling, i will become a servant to all the world, to lift them from their tortured loneliness and reconnect them with the heart of a god who is very much alive, who **listens** , who  **cares** , who is  **giving** and  **kind**. _

     "Rise, Seeker Leliana." Beatrix's voice rang through the Hall, cold and clear as fresh-formed ice.

     I rose and looked her in the eye, realizing that we were alone. I had been given no escort, nor had my weapons or ring been taken from me. The change had been marked in my mind, but I knew an explanation awaited my all too willing ears. 

     "My Right Hand informs me that your extended mission to Ferelden has come to an end." Beatrix spoke, and I allowed the faintest smile to quirk my lips. 

     I had written to Cassandra that I would be returning to Val Royeaux; that my time in Ferelden was at its end, and that I was willing to swear whatever vows might be required of me and live the life so desired of me by the Chantry. I never fathomed that the Right Hand who despised me would craft an alibi in my defense. 

     "It has, Most Holy." I averted my gaze, knowing my role. "And I have returned, ready and willing to take my vows and begin the Maker's work."

     "That is all well and good." Beatrix attempted a benevolent smile, but it translated as a fabricated, cunning expression. "But you will swear no vows, Leliana Cousland. The Chantry has need of you beyond those of the uniform's creed."

      _Oh?_

     "Pray enlighten me, Most Holy." I entreated, beginning to feel a familiar thrill in my chest, the knowledge of a quest to be embarked upon, a mission to see through to its end. 

     "We have received word from one of our order, a Brother Sebastian Vael, in the Free Marches." Beatrix continued. "There is marked unrest in the Circle of Magi in the city of Kirkwall. I have stationed one of my most capable Knight Commanders there as a precaution, however, it seems this is not enough. I need the truth of these matters brought to my ears, and, as misfortune would have it, those who walk purely in the light cannot often gain entrance into darker havens. Therefore, as such a task seems suited to one of your background and talent, I will send you and three others to ascertain the heart of the disturbance. You will remain anonymous, masking your identities and forsaking all ties to the Chantry, save when necessary."

      _Live the life for which you were meant..._ Salem's voice rang in my ears and my heart began to beat faster...with anticipation. 

      _Yes, my love. I will._

     "Will those with whom I work be chosen for me, or am I at liberty to discern who would be best suited to such an endeavor?" I asked, tingeing my voice with a note of respect and humility. 

     Beatrix sighed, clearly displeased with the answer she would deliver. "In this particular set of circumstances, it would be beneficial to the both of us should you choose your own...the Chantry frowns on the arts of deception, Lady Cousland, as you must have realized from your time spent among the sisters and brothers in Lothering. However, difficult times call for measures as yet untaken. It gives me no pleasure to commission you with this task, but the Nine have convened and decided that it is best for the peace and safety of Thedas as a whole. Also, speed is of the greatest importance, so I implore you to choose quickly."

     "Seeker Lieutenant Kathyra, and templar privates Kestrel Ariyah and Rylie Camerloch." The names fell from my lips with ease, and I realized that greater purpose behind the time that Salem and I were separated. 

      _To gather to me those whom I could trust implicitly with the skills that will be required for this venture. Kathyra was first a bard, then a healer, now a Seeker; she will be invaluable. Kestrel, a former thief and a mage, able to blend and infiltrate the depths of the Circle. Rylie, the consummate templar, whose mannerisms and vivacity draw people towards her as moths to the flame. Maker...the blessings you have given me for this moment...I did not realize them at the time. Forgive my ignorance and lack of faith, I beg of you. And thank you for providing all that I need._

     Beatrix's brow raised and her expression reminded me of a noblewoman inhaling the odor of the commoner's streets. "You are certain of your choices?" She asked. "I will have you know that the two templars you named are still under suspicion."

     "Even after all they have done to prove themselves?" I asked, incredulous. "After surviving the mission Cassandra butchered?"

     Beatrix nodded, sage, as though her wisdom eclipsed that of all mankind. "The heart is a fickle thing, Lady Cousland, as well you would know. Keep in mind, even with your somewhat flexible position here, that long absences without proper explanation will  _not_ be excused. Those two have continued to catch the eye of trusted superiors and comrades. They bear watching."

     "Perhaps," I smiled, too sweet, "such gazes from their peers will make them quite perfect for the tasks you have in mind. And better to have them out of your hair, no?"

     Beatrix pinched the bridge of her nose, and the gesture filled me with equal parts humor and sorrow. "Begone from my sight, Leliana. Those you have selected will be summoned, and you will convene at sunset for a briefing with one of the Nine. I have other matters that take precedence."

     "Of course, Most Holy. It will be done." I smiled as I turned on my heel and exited the room, the thrum of a new adventure filling me with a calm sense of joy.

      _You do not want to get your hands dirty, Beatrix?_ I asked within my thoughts, mocking the woman who claimed to speak for the Maker.  _Very well. But, be warned, I have seen the world changed from the shadows...by one who walked in them and among them, pure as winter's first breath. I shall be the same. You have ordered the changing of the world, and I fear you may find its outcome...different than you first imagined._

      _Salem, my love, if you can see me, if you can hear me, know that I am keeping my promise. I am **living** , and I am unafraid. Thank you for that gift...thank you for all that you have made me. _


	49. Tomorrow, When the War was Won

**Leliana**

 

      _What am I ensnaring myself in this time?_ I wondered, eyeing the Seeker captain's armor provided me by the Divine. I was not a member of the order, nor could I become one, but Beatrix thought it best to give me the protection of a Seeker's title while in Kirkwall. 

      _A new title, a new rank, a new calling? There was a time...there was a time when I would not have had the strength to embrace this, or the power to state what I desired with such clarity before one who possesses more power than any king._

     A knock at the door startled me from reverie and I turned, poised on the balls of my feet, waiting as it opened. The figure's crisp salute fell askew as green eyes, so very familiar, widened. I smiled at Kathyra and her lips parted in surprise. Her reaction did not shock me, until I saw the sheen of tears overtaking her eyes.

     "I...I never dared to think...how stupid of me." The physician shook her head and brushed her hand through the tangles of her ash-blonde hair. "I thought...I thought she lied to me as a comfort, but...lying was simply not her way, was it?"

     Confusion riddled me at Kathyra's tangled words. "What do you speak of?" I asked, restraining myself from laughter as I thought of the series of odd introductions and reunions the last several years had visited on me. 

     "For...forgive me, Leliana." Kathyra closed the door and wiped her eyes, straining to gain a measure of composure. "A year ago, after Salem had been wounded, we--she and I--spoke. And I...I confided secrets that I shoudl not have, but she was so  _kind_ , and she said...she...Maker's blood-soaked breath, I am a wreck."

      _Why did Salem never tell me of this?_ I asked in the quiet confines of my mind, attempting to control my bewilderment.  _What could Kathyra have said to her that she would hold in such strict confidence, unless...what I saw in Kathyra's face the night she boarded the ship...could she possibly have told Salem? Confessed her love?_

     "What did she say, Kathyra?" I asked,eager to know anything of my wife, and what had been shared with my friend, as it obviously concerned her heart...and me.

     "I kept the words close to me all this time, not daring to believe them, thinking it was Salem's incredible capacity for forgiveness and mercy. But I confided to her my heart and she met my eyes, and...and she said 'Leliana never leaves something...but that she returns to it'."

     Something broke inside me as Kathyra reiterated Salem's words; my warden's hope and trust and faith. Grief assaulted me yet again, blooming in the familiar pattern of an ache in my chest and a sting behind my eyes. Kathyra read my expression and the joy in her eyes faded to a look of soft commiseration. 

     "And here you are." Realization washed over the Seeker. "Though not summoned...oh, Leliana. Leliana, I am  _sorry_."

     She strode forward and wrapped her arms around me. The scent of herbs washed over, pleasant and soothing. I rested my head on her shoulder, feeling a comfort from her that I had known known in the embrace of any other who sought to alleviate my sorrow. She knew. She understood. She had lost the one she loved to an assassin's blade; the one who paid for her freedom in blood and set her feet on the path that allowed her to meet destiny. 

      _Salem said that...she said such words about...about **me**? I, who threatened to leave her time and again, who severed hear heart not once, but twice? How is it that you were taken from this world, Salem, and I allowed to remain? Was it that you were too good, too pure, too  **brilliant** to exist in a world of deep shadows and darkness? How many more could your light have saved? _

"It was  _too **soon**_." I breathed, letting Kathyra hold me, no matter what it might mean for the future. In this moment, vulnerable, weak, I needed her understanding, her caring, her compassion. "Kathyra...I..."

     "I know." Her hand stroked through the hair that I had cut short once more, braiding it in the same manner as I had during the Blight. 

     I did not cut it out of grief, or lack of self-worth as I had the first time. I cut it to remember myself as I was when love first set its eyes on me. When true passion took me by storm, altering my life, giving me yet another chance to find the redemption I endlessly sought since losing my soul in Marjolaine's smooth, ungentle hands. 

     "The good are taken too soon, Leliana. Whatever you may need...please, confide in me." Her voice soothed me as though I were a patient under her care. She relinquished her hold and stepped back an appropriate distance, though I could still read in her eyes the same emotions that swirled in them the night we parted. 

     I had prayed that she would find someone in whose hand she could place her heart. I hoped that time would heal her wounds, but it would seem that the same fickle fate that took Salem from my side had also denied Kathyra the peace of being loved. 

     "Are you all right?" She asked, full of care and hesitance, knowing that the both of us were students of emotion and expression, that I could read her longings as easily as she translated my sorrow. 

     "I will be." I offered a weak smile. "Given time. And time seems all that is left to me. What has happened?"

     "So much..." Kathyra sighed and concealed her heart with a carefully constructed mask. "After our return, Beatrix sent us back to the island. We found it much as you said it would be, a base of operations, though it had been abandoned. Hastily, in fact." Kathyra perched on the edge of the table, searching through her memories, seeking pertinent information. "We found grievous plans set in place.  A seditionist movement sweeping all of Thedas. It seemed the core of their endgame was to insert select rogue mages into various Circles, and then, by assassination of subterfuge, remove the templar 'threat', destroy the phylacteries, and regroup in Tevinter. Many of them have been located and dealt with, but there are still portions of the code in which their plans were written that cannot be translated."

     I idly bit my nail as I considered the ramifications of what the Seekers had uncovered. "Then it seems that Beatrix's actions are not a moment too soon. Has she informed you of our new purpose?"

     "I've heard rumors." Kathyra nodded. "But nothing to confirm them...until your reappearance and," She glanced at my false rank insignia, "your unprecedented promotion, Captain Leliana."

     "Captain Cousland." I chuckled, pinching the bridge of my nose as I remembered laughing in the most terrible of circumstances when Sergeant Alan informed me of the crew's affectionate moniker. 

     "So it is true?" Kathyra inquired. "A Seeker shadow squadron, operating independently of Chantry guidelines?"

     I nodded. "It would seem so."

     "Cass would be  _appalled_." A smile quirked her lips. "She cannot see the world as we do. I requested transfer out from under her command as soon as we returned. When the Divine received my report, and Sergeant Alan's corroborating it...Cassandra suffered a reprimand unlike any other. She has...I cannot say she has softened, but she is at least attempting to view a situation from all available angles before charging in with a sharpened sword. I know you can empathize when I say that our communication is...strictured...as of late."

     "It is difficult to continue to trust one who would have left you for dead and damned the consequence." I muttered, thinking of the times when I had done the same, at Marjolaine's urging and encouragement. 

      _But I learned._ I centered myself.  _I learned that all of life is precious and sacred, and that the end amounts to nothing if the means are abused and left behind.In that learning, I struck down the Right Hand...the second most powerful woman in Thedas. In that learning, I may have, at last, earned the right to lead._

     Kathyra nodded. "So many things have changed..."

     "I am at my  _end_ with this!" A familiar brogue drifted from the hallway. "I was readying to leave for a deployment! Maker's blood-soaked breath, if this is another  _pointless_ interrogation, I am going to lose my  _mind_!"

     I stifled my laughter as Kathyra's brow quirked upwards. "Some things, however," She quipped, "remain the same."

     "I am quite certain it's nothing more than a last moment debriefing." Kestrel's calmer tones echoed from the hall. "Keep your head, Rylie."

     I hung my head and let my hair shield my face, wondering how the heart could vacillate between joy and grief with such ease.

     The door swung open to reveal a wrathful creature with unruly chestnut curls and snapping black eyes. Rylie's gaze lit on my rank and her posture turned from belligerent to the ramrod straight of attention. 

     "Private Rylie Camerloch reporting as ordered, Captain..." I raised my head and her jaw dropped. "What in the seven blackened landscapes of hell is this!?" She demanded, looking from me to Kathyra in bewildered wonder. 

     Kestrel appeared at the door, grinned, and leaned against it, her viridian eyes sparkling as she watched Rylie attempt to arrive at a conclusion. 

     "I think our deployment might have been waylaid." She observed in her soft voice. "It is good to see you again, Leliana."

     I remembered our farewell, when the mage-templar had said, with such certainty, that our paths would cross again. Such a confident, calm assurance had defined Salem, and the core of grief welled up in me again, as these beautiful people reminded me of my lover's traits. 

     "Well met, Kestrel." I swallowed down the lump in my throat and beckoned them to come inside. 

     Kestrel shut the door behind her and took a seat, a canny, thief's grin lighting her features. "So," She leaned back and propped her feet on the table, as comfortable and self-gratified as a cat, "when does the war begin?"

     Kathyra looked to me, expectant and hopeful, while Rylie muttered a sound of incomprehension and sat down with a defeated slump to her shoulders. 

      _Thus it begins_. I cleared my throat, looking up as yet another joined us, her entrance unseen by the other eyes. A young woman with gleaming silver eyes and indigo curls, a smile on her lips and the all too human expression of hope on her features.  _An impossible task set before a small collection of those who would keep the darkness at bay...a task that would seem daunting to anyone who had not faced this **same** situation and seen those who faced such dreadful odds emerge triumphant.  **This** was the purpose of that first vision, to be with Salem, to follow her and see that the world can be changed by  **one** life,  **one** heart beating with hope and faith and love. So that my own heart might be changed...so that when faced with altering the face of an entire  **world** , I would know that success is not out of reach. _

_Salem...your love, your passion, your **heart**. Such a thing can never die. _

     "The official briefing will commence shortly." I spoke, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. "But before that begins, I must tell you all of my true identity, and our  _true_ purpose."


	50. Loss-Love-Life

**TWO YEARS LATER**

**Leliana**

     I wiped sweat from my brow as I entered the door. The summers in Kirkwall were considerably hotter than those of Ferelden, and certainly moreso than Orlais. I thought I would become accustomed to the change in temperature, but was grievously incorrect. I leaned against the door and took a breath, centering myself and calming the beating of my heart. The unrest the Divine had spoken of did nothing but worsen since our arrival in the city. Beatrix's highly trusted templar, Knight Commander Meredith, ruled the Circle of Magi with an iron first. Her reach went far, and her methods became more and more merciless as time progressed. There were times I questioned my sanity, and prayed daily to the Maker for Kestrel and Rylie's safety.

     Our cover had been simple to establish. Kathyra and I set up a physician's office in Lowtown, the hub of the city, where gossip flowed free from hard times and generous, cheap whiskey. Meanwhile, Rylie, newly promoted to templar sergeant, by my order, had reported to Meredith, bringing Kestrel in tow as an apostate mage captured en route to Kirkwall. I nearly killed the knight-commander myself after hearing what transpired. Kestrel was forced to undergo a Harrowing...Meredith's standard procedure with any mage brought into the Kirkwall Circle, even if they were transferred from another established Circle of Magi. Kathyra and I were forced to infiltrate the Gallows in order to save the mage-templar's life. An unskilled, untutored mage had little chance of surviving a Harrowing; it was why they took place after the mage spent years under the tutelage of their elders. Kestrel had not had the luxury of proper training; it was by sheer force of will alone that she pulled through.

     Since that day, Rylie pushed herself towards earning Meredith's favor, rising in the ranks, listening to my counsel when I told her that the easiest point of ambush lay in a place of established trust. Kathyra merely agreed that day, remembering the wounds both of us bore at the hands of one who used that same strategy.

     I sighed and pushed myself away from the door. Kathyra sat at her desk, scribbling away, her fingers stained with ink. I smiled as the ever-present scent of herbs washed over me. The physician smelled of healing and care, whereas my warden had carried with her the scent of the battlefield. It seemed strange that I could find equal comfort in both. Kathyra looked up, guilt flashed through her eyes, and she hastily covered what she had been working at with such abandon not moments before. I cocked my hip and raised a brow, having found her in this situation several times over the last year, and never satisfied with her answers to my inquiries of what exactly she had been doing.

     Concern filtered through her eyes as she rose to her feet and took in my somewhat harried appearance. "What happened?" She asked, walking to me and placing the backs of her fingertips against my forehead. "You look flushed."

     I relaxed into her touch as she moved behind me and began to soothe the tension between my shoulders with her skilled hands. 

     "Another riot in the streets." I replied, hanging my  head as her fingers moved in delicate circles over the muscles in my neck. "The qunari presence has the locals set on edge. It was all the viceroy and guards could do to dispel the crowd without bloodshed."

     "Was the guard captain there?" Kathyra inquired, pressing her lips to the back of my neck, sending a pleasant shudder down my spine and increasing the rate of my heart for a different reason.

     Our coming together had been a slow, hesitant dance. Kathyra feared the re-opening of old injuries dealt to both of our hearts and I struggled with the thought of letting another as near to me as Salem had been. But I had taken Salem's letter, re-reading my warden and wife's last wishes for me. To not cease living, nor deny myself joy due to her absence. Gently, with great care, Kathyra and I had begun to write a new chapter of our lives, and I learned more of the world in which I lived. There were many kinds of love...so very, very many. I had confused passion with love when I had fallen for Marjolaine, thinking that my devotion to her was born of a heart-deep connection...only to find that it was not so. That no matter the pounding of her name inside my mind with every step, no matter the intoxicating thrill of pleasure beneath her hands...my heart had been jailed, tormented, plagued by a disease with no known cure. 

     Salem was true love;  pure unadulterated forgiveness and trust. Every one of her broken edges had fit against the chasms in my soul and filled them, binding us into a cohesive whole. We had been separate halves of the same being, knowledge of the other's life had been an instinctive beacon, no matter the distance separating us. A connection forged in paradise, a love sealed by the hand of a god. The love of which bards sang, and authors penned, and men and women alike craved with unerring desire. I knew, in my heart, that Kathyra had known that same love with the woman who had saved her, body and soul. The physician Giselle. 

     My bond with Kathyra was different, and well we knew it. It was love born of two souls collecting themselves in the aftermath of tragedy, forgiving fate and accepting the knowledge that life continued without apology. There were no heated, passionate declarations, no despondence in the absence of the other. Instead, there was comfort, peace, and the knowledge that those who departed before us would welcome us again when the time came. We both knew that our connection did not extend beyond mortality...and we were content with that. 

     "Guard Captain Aveline?" I relaxed into Kathyra's embrace as the furor of the riot's aftermath faded, leaving me drained of energy. "Yes, but I made certain that I remained unseen. That woman..." I shook my head, remembering the Guard Captain of Kirkwall from her time in Lothering, "...without magical skill, she must be the most singularly discerning soul I have ever met. She never believed me to be a true sister of the Chantry, and I know you believe me when I say I am an impeccable actress."

     "I most certainly do." Another soft press of lips against my cheek and Kathyra withdrew, seeming relieved.

     "You minx!" I exclaimed, moving to the desk and blocking her before she could squirrel away her secretive work. "The massage, the questions...your true intent was to distract me!"

     Kathyra sighed, knowing defeat loomed before her. "Why is your tone accusatory when you know you will get the answer from me in one form or another?"

     "Will I?" I wondered, becoming concerned by her reticence. There were no secrets between us...save this  _one_. "If it is so troubling, Kathyra, I will not force you to reveal...whatever it is."

     The physician bit her lower lip, as she often did when perplexed. "It isn't finished." She whispered. "I...I cannot seem to grasp the last detail, and I do not wish you to see an incomplete work. But," She ran her hand through her ash-blonde hair, "perhaps you can seek out whatever is missing."

     Trepidation filled me as Kathyra gently nudged me away from the desk and lifted a stack of parchment. She handed me the sheaf and stepped back, letting her hair conceal her expression.  "I...I hope you do not think less of me...or think me too forward.  It merely seemed...needed." She whispered. 

      _What could possibly make me think less of you, Kathyra?_ I wondered, looking down at the papers, covered from margin to margin in the physician's precise, careful handwriting. 

* * *

_Men live by legend.  Tales of heroism and daring drive us to greater achievements, teach us the fine art of living, and living well. They are built upon those who have gone before, whose deeds and names live long after them. Legends are the core of us, and thus they alter over time, providing inhuman examples of our best attributes, concealing the entire truth even as they reveal the heart of the matter. It is a cruel fate for those who performed the deeds we aspire to, to deny them their humanity, to cut short their experience in a tale of anecdote._

_We build the figures of legend into paragons of virtue and beauty, who have never known a hint of doubt, a moment of insecurity. We strip their vulnerabilities from them as time passes...we destroy them even as they create us. Such things must come to an end. Within these words lies a legend so great as to not be believed. It tells the tale of a woman who rose from death and fire to become the greatest hero of our age. One who forsook their high birth and took upon her shoulders the greatest curse our world has to offer, in order to bring about peace.  It is the story of a mortal woman who shared our fears, our insecurities, our moments of doubt._

_This is a story of blood spilled for sacrifice and honor. This is a story of a body scarred beyond comprehension. This is a story of a love that outstrips stars and encompasses galaxies, a love that caused one heart to embrace hell and walk from heaven. Listen and hear of mortal love, mortal trust, mortal strength. Listen and hear of one whose heartbeat awakened a silent god._

* * *

 

     Tears blurred my eyes as I rapidly turned the pages, reading what Kathyra had written, every part of every story I'd relayed to her of Salem and myself. Every heartbreaking moment lay within her words, every wound, every scar had been documented in precise detail. Our first kiss was captured, our partings exquisitely rendered in their grief and tragedy. Her tale comprised everything, from the sacking of Highever to our last night together. Somehow, she'd included everything, all of the tears, the laughter...the terrible cooking. 

     "There are so many stories." Kathyra whispered as I continued to read her labor of love. "So many rumors floating about that concern Salem's life and how she lived it. I...I thought it best that the true tale at last come to light. So that she will be known as you knew her...and as I wish I had been able to."

     I turned to the last page and gasped. Salem's portrait stared out at me, drawn by a careful hand. Every line perfect, the stubborn set of her jaw, the crooked line of her twice-broken nose, the noble structure of her high cheekbones. Kathyra captured Salem's strength in the set of her lips, though the corners of them were quirked up in the hint of a smile...the elusive mirth that I so hungered after once it was revealed. Delicate ink, indigo and red, smeared across the portrait's right cheek, the same, beautiful, swirling pattern stamped on Salem's face by dragon fire.

     I had seen many artist's renderings of the Hero of Ferelden. Each and every one of them had been beautiful...until I looked into their perception of her eyes. Salem's silver-blue gaze had been warped in their creation, made too determined, filled with righteous anger and a promise of unholy vengeance to be wreaked upon wrong-doers. It had been pitiless, hard, uncompromising. 

      _Cassandra's eyes,_ I realized.  _They put Cassandra's eyes into Salem's face...and my wife was **not** that manner of woman. _

      _But this..._

     "I..." Kathyra shuffled her feet, "...I can't seem to get the eyes right." 

     "They're perfect." I breathed, clutching the ring that I wore around my neck now, acknowledging that which was past as I embraced what was present. 

     The expression Kathyra placed in Salem's eyes was an overwhelming serenity, and behind that, she managed to evoke the blinding love my warden had ever possessed. The love that lifted me from secrets and shadows, the love that would but banish the man who ordered her family killed, for the sake of a dead friendship with his daughter. The love that made her relinquish her weapons and submit to torture; the love that caused her to turn from her mother's embrace and deny the promise of paradise. 

      _The love that defined every action taken...love that blinded her and healed her sight._

     "Are you certain?" My lover asked, full of beautiful hesitance. "I...I wanted to create her as you knew her...for you knew her best, and loved her most."

     "Perfect." I spoke through my tears, setting the parchment aside and embracing the woman who had given me a greater gift than she knew. 

      _I never...never...I **tried** , Salem. But I...I could never take pen in hand and tell your story. My words were so weak and meaningless when I re-read them. You deserve to have your legend relayed, every part of it. The moments of fractured sanity, nobility so unheard of as to be divine...the deep well of  **love** that  **nothing** , not blindness, not torture, not heartache, not  **death** could drive from existence. _

     Kathyra held me as I wept from the beauty of her gift to me and the ache of my losses remembered. "Thank you." I whispered, barely able to speak beyond the fullness of my heart. 

     "I love you, Leliana." The physician told me, and my heart skipped a beat. 

     I gasped as pain struck, and I stumbled. Kathyra righted me, her eyes glowing with concern. "Is everything all right?" She asked, wrapping her arm about my waist and helping me into the chair. "Were you hurt during the riot? Is it a vision?"

     I managed to shake my head, uncertain of why my heart raced as though it would beat out of my chest. I strained to even my breathing as a light ignited in my soul, faint but powerful...an innate, intimate knowledge of... _what was lost...two years ago..._

     "Leliana, what is it?" Kathyra moved my hair away from my face, touching my cheek. "Maker's breath, you're freezing!"

     She raced to a cabinet and returned with a warm, woolen blanket, laying it about my shoulders. I looked at the portrait and attempted to tell myself the lie, that this was simply grief remembered, pain amplified by a gift greater than almost any I had been given. 

     "I'm all right." I assured her, though I clutched at the blanket like a lost, wayward child. "It's nothing, Kat, I promise."

     "You are certain?"

     I nodded, though the light began to burn brighter, with more ferocity, and the ring I wore against my heart grew warm. 

      _What in **hell** is happening?_


	51. Beginning from the End

**Salem Cousland**

     "At last, you open your eyes."

     A cold voice rang from somewhere in the tortured, blistering hell of consciousness. Blurred lines danced before my vision, light swirled and undulated and my head swam as the painful beating of my heart jarred me further into the awareness that something was  _terribly_ wrong. 

      _W...where am I?_ My thoughts felt like knives inside my mind; my entire body burned with the sensation of feeling reawakened in a limb. Breath came harsher and faster, tasting of flames and blood and ash.  _What...what in **hell** is happening!?_

     I turned my head, attempting to see something...anything. I remembered the peaceful fields of paradise, days spent with my father and mother, Oriana and Oren, making up for time lost in the waking world. Then the lightning and flames, the excruciating pain as a taloned hand reached from the sky and pierced my heart...

     "Do you not find it the least bit intriguing...the way that men have forgotten their histories?" The voice again, brimming with power. "You mark the days and seasons and decades and ages, but have failed to seek the deeper meaning beyond. We have returned, and there are no questions. Our re-emergence is not studied; for men walk around in delighted blindness, blissful in their ignorance, unwilling to believe that they linger on the precipice of greater change than any known before."

     "What," My voice rasped, hoarse and broken, grating in my throat like shards of glass, "what is...happening?"

     "Change. On a maudlin, epic scale." I remembered this voice, from a time long, long past, icy and crystal and cryptic. "But you have more inane inquiries, do you not?  _Why_ am I here?  _Where_ have you brought me?  _Why_ am I no longer in paradise?" A glowering chuckle filled the cramped space. "We who crafted this world before man also crafted paradise, Salem Cousland. The curses we created, we can also remove. The parts of you damaged; your sundered, pulverized heart, eaten through by a blade...'twas a child's game to repair the damage." A figure moved into my rapidly clearing vision. 

     A suit of scaled armor caught the glint of the light as it moved atop a lithe, supple body. White hair had been swept back in shape and patterns resembling a high dragon's horns, bound by indigo cloth. A silver crown rested upon her brow and golden eyes, so like her daughter's, gleamed. It was a new form, but I would always recognize the face of the witch in the Korcari Wilds.

     "Flemeth?" I demanded, attempting to rise to my feet, only to find that they were weak and scarcely able to move. "Flemeth, what is the meaning of this!?"

     She threw back her head and  _laughed_. It crackled down my spine like lightning. "The dragons returned and no one whispered. Fear lit the land, but no one spoke. Too afraid, too set upon mortal goals to even realize that the gods have returned."

      _The gods...what have they to do with the reappearance of the dragons? I do not understand! Why in hell, **how** in hell, am I alive!? _

     "We were first, Salem Cousland. The elves knew us first and knew us well, accepting us as their Creators. But," Her brow lowered and her golden eyes gleamed with malice, "my brothers and sisters, too enamored of the new creations, gave them gifts beyond their reckoning.  _Our_ gifts. Magic. Immortality. Fools, the lot of them 'Tis no wonder that they were locked away, and Arlathan sacked. Severed from those who created them, the elves lost their secrets and became but mortal nomads, clinging to vanished relics and a dead heritage of when they were  _loved_...and loved so uselessly. But it is the nature of things to destroy...and my children did so unto me like a baby scorpion who stings its mother's back 'til she can carry him no more."

     My heart ripped open anew, a fresh onslaught of pain, as Flemeth poured into it long forgotten knowledge. I sat there in stunned shock as she smiled. 

     "Yes, in answer to your myriad, foolish questions." She leered at me like a predator. "You have killed so many of our lesser children; made your wealth from their hordes. Did you not even consider the notion that we built those who toil beneath the earth, solely to gather our gold and gems. We deprived them of magic and made them our servants, severing from them the thought of  _any_ god so that they but mindlessly gathered what they thought were their own desires."

      I reached for my writhing, injured consciousness. "So...all things...all races...were built by the dragons?" I asked, desperate to know, for Flemeth never spoke at length but with a purpose...a purpose that had demanded she rip my soul from paradise and force it once more into a mortal body. 

     "Did you never wonder why the old gods took the form of dragons?" Flemeth teased, reaching down for me. "Did you never consider that this mortal flesh and form were but a second-skin for me? Do not try me overmuch, Salem. I once thought you possessed of an open mind; do  _not_ make me regret my decision."

     I lifted my scarred hand and fit it between her weathered,  _powerful_ palms. She lifted me to my feet and a wave of strength poured through me from her touch. I surveyed my surroundings, recognizing the cool stone beneath me, the formations of rock overhead, the single pinpoint of light as I gazed out of the mouth of a cave and onto a landscape of snowcapped mountains. 

     "You...you brought me back." I shivered as the realization broke me. 

     "With great resistance." Flemeth smiled and it chilled me to the core. "The Maker...oh, how she delights in you. With childish glee she crafted her paradise; with infernal idiocy she gave mankind magic, using the Veil her betters created to keep you precious,  _precious_ children from the vagaries of spirits. And as the Great Game began she chose one to speak with her voice, to lead humanity and the elves from the dominion of the magic you should never have had. How she  _cried_ on the day when the Tevinter mages attempted to take down her heaven, as we convened and cast a curse upon mankind...the day the darkspawn were born."

      _Then the dragons,_ my thoughts tumbled in and over themselves like an avalanche,  _have re-emerged...gods coming back to earth. It is not the Maker alone who desires to speak to her people. They **all** have come back...for some reason. _

     "Why have you returned now?" I asked, feeling an old flame kindle in my spirit as battle-song thrummed through my blood. "What is your purpose, Flemeth? Who  _are_ you?"

     "I?" Her hands curved to claws as she placed them over her breast in a decidedly human gesture of shock and indignation. "You know well, Salem, that I am called by many names. The elves had the right of it, calling me first their "Mother," though they thought I betrayed them when I escaped the Dread Wolf locking my brothers and sisters away. I have been ever with them, though unseen across the Ages. Mortal minds melt, and now I am but Asha'belannar, the Woman of Many Years..."

     "I did not ask for titles." I hissed, letting anger have its way with me. "If you know  _anything_ of me, then you know that I have  _no use_ for titles and  _little_ patience for those who hide behind them."

     Flemeth laughed once more and it echoed through the caves. "Well worth the time, Salem. You are  _well worth_ the time it took to painstakingly reconstruct the flesh of your heart and cleanse your blood of the taint. Very well then, child. I shall give you some insight." She turned and walked to the opening of the cave and I followed, staring at the map of isolated, desolate creation. "I am the chaos tic, the wayward god, abstaining from mortal creations and living my life as I see fit. I am the god of gods, reminding them who we are...what we must be, even if cruel methods are employed. Children play their games, and all is well and good...until they become to attached to their toys. The Great Game does not change, Salem, and even a loving mother must discipline the wayward youth. Should that order ever alter, all of life is doomed."

     "Then why am I here?" I asked the question scorching me since the moment my eyes opened on this hellscape of life re-allowed.

     "Change has come upon all men, and I must mitigate this foolishness before it begins." Flemeth's eyes darkened and the calm wrath I saw in them caused me more fear than the archdemon's roar. "All sides are choosing their champions. Even now, the merged mage is planning his lunacy. It will shake the foundations of the earth, Salem. Blood on  _your_ hands. Even now, the Dalish outcast is playing with mirrors, listening and  _hearing_ the voices of the trapped creators, and the Dread Wolf  _is_ watching. The horned men march out in religious fervor, serving the god in whose image they were created. Even now, a champion rises in the city of Kirkwall, determined to write her name in the annals of history, for men or mage...we do not yet know. The Chantry sends out their fool, Cassandra Pentaghast, in order to mitigate a conflict they cannot  _reckon_ the scale of. The gods are awakening, choosing their avatars, preparing for battle, and I am unafraid."

     "You have not answered my question, Flemeth." I snarled. 

     " _Such_ spirit." She mused, stroking the scar on my cheek with frigid hands. "But a god has kissed you, and shared their blood, so I am not surprised that you would challenge me." She offered an indulgent grin. "I have but one cause for worry in this war so soon to come. The Maker has chosen another. Not a foolish, mortal idealist as before, but one who has been through the trials of flames, who has found herself torn by cruelty and lifted by...an  _inhuman_ example of nobility. 'Tis she who keeps me awake beneath the moon, this bard, this creature of light and life. 'Tis  _she_ who will alter this world irrevocably...if not stopped."

      _Leliana..._ my heart lurched as it heard my lover's name, and the ring I still wore burned against my hand. 

     "Thus, I have broken my creed." Flemeth frowned, deepening the lines at the corners of her eyes. 'No longer can I watch from the shadows and whisper of unseen futures. I have chosen my own champion...the greatest hero of this age.  _You_ , Salem Cousland.  _You_ must walk the face of Thedas and fight a war on a scale not before dreamed by the likes of men."

     My hands began shaking and I clenched them into fists. "God or not, you are a  _fool_ if you  _dare_ think I will  _ever_ raise my hand against Leliana!" I thundered, finding my strength, my center, the heart that I had  _never_ forsaken, not even in death. 

     Flemeth raised a single brow skyward. "Oh no, Salem." She smiled, indulgent and practiced. "The most powerful pieces of these games are kept in reserve until needed. If harming the fire-haired bard were my intention, I could so easily see her dispatched. But seeing you alive...knowing that the one she loves so dearly, the Maker of mankind, could have let you live and did not...is that not enough to break the strongest faith? 'Twould break mine, were I mortal, were I in need of something so weak as  _faith_."

     "You cruel, conniving..." 

     "Decry me all you like, child." Flemeth waved away my words. "You live now, free from sickness, free from taint. There is little you can do now but fall upon your own sword, and such a thing,  _I_ will not allow."

     I straightened my shoulders, shaking, furious, but unable to do anything save stand before the woman who had altered fate and  _hate_ her. I could feel the fire in my eyes, the ache in my new heart...and do nothing. All things had used me for their end...now would be no different.

      _So now I must fight a god...again. Whatever your endgame, Flemeth, I will **not** let it succeed, even if the cost is my own life. I have died twice now...perhaps a third time will let me at last know  **peace!**_

     "I have always admired your acceptance of destiny, Salem." Flemeth nodded her approval. "And now, I must set you a task. A foolish young one flits about the earth, seeking its deep secrets and their own heritage.  _She_ is cunning, my pride and joy...an ungrateful bitch, my Morrigan. Find her, Salem. Do whatever you must, but make  _certain_ that she finds her search of three long years in vain."

     I set my lips in a firm line, at my end with the whims of gods and powerful men. I had wanted a life and found it denied. I had wanted the peace of death, and found myself ripped from paradise and born anew. I had...Flemeth handed my swords to me, kept clean and polished. I ran my fingers over the nightingale inscribed on the hilt, and my heart bled. 

      _To see her again..._ for the first time since I opened my eyes, a light entered my soul.  _I can reconcile myself to this...to see her again._

     "Go, Salem, daughter of the chaos-god." Flemeth commanded. "You may begin your search in the hovel i once called home. Return to the Korcari Wilds, Salem. Return to where it all began."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end...of this story. Another is in the works. Thanks to everyone who has read, offered kudos, and most especially those of you who have commented. 
> 
> Bright Blessings,   
> ~Raven


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